


Snapshot

by jaceyboiii, SilentSamLikesHam



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Angst to Smut to Fluff and Back Again, Bisexual Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Daddy Kink, Daddy bones, Healing, Karl Urban Fucked our Wives, Light BDSM, Lingerie Kink, M/M, Mentions of Abusive Relationships, Mentions of alcoholism, Mentions of homophobia, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pansexual James T. Kirk, Pole Dancing, Slight Voyeurism, Texting, drunk phone calls, oblivious boys, past abusive relationships, photographer/model au, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-11-15 01:31:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18064028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaceyboiii/pseuds/jaceyboiii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentSamLikesHam/pseuds/SilentSamLikesHam
Summary: “Jesus Jim, y’look like shit,” he hisses to hide the quiver in his voice, taking aforementioned blond’s face between his hands and inspecting it this way and that. The bright red bruises staining his cheeks and lips don't seem major, but the very sight of them makes Leonard’s blood boil. “Just can’t keep yourself outta trouble, can you?”Jim tries to hold back a whimper as he glances at the man's hands cupping his cheeks.“Trouble generally finds me,” he half whispers, not sure if he wants Bones to hear him over the rain.





	1. The Man Behind the Lens

Muttering several curse words under his breath, Leonard McCoy - senior photographer / coordinator for an _up and coming_ fashion magazine - hurries up a flight of stairs and into the studio area. He dismisses several sets of hands and dodges questions of what the hell took him so long to get there, rummaging through his side-satchel bag for his camera. 

“Alright people, let's get this show on the road,” he calls out, wrangling haphazardly out of a pullover as the final touches to the set are made. Dumping his bag off to the side, he wipes his brow with the back of his arm and slings his camera around his neck by the strap. He then shuffles over to a work desk where storyboards and sample photos are splayed out. 

“Who’s first?” he huffs, not paying much attention to who else is standing around the table as he messes with the settings on his camera, inevitably oblivious to being about to meet his maker of a model.

"Uhh, that would be me" Jim Kirk affirms, stepping in front of the white backdrop.  
He dons white Calvin Klein briefs with a black silk nightgown draped around his shoulders. He passes the gown over to one of the assistants as he begins lining himself up for his first shot.  
His eyes fall on the photographer in front of him, a ragged dark-haired man, the kind of artsy person Jim was used to seeing behind the camera. 

Jim almost dismissed him completely, almost fell into that usual professional air he always did at a photoshoot. But it’s the hazel eyes that strike him. As their gaze sharpen on him, Jim can feel his stomach drop.

He can feel his breath hitch as he raises his centre of gravity upwards in an attempt to stretch his muscles further for his first pose. Jim can’t remember the last time he had felt nervous at a shoot, to feel his heart pounding the way it is.

Leonard only affixes the man with a curt nod at first, all caught up in the mechanics of his camera as he follows suit in making his way to the photoshoot area. It’s when he finally looks up that he actually has to do a double take.  
Sure, he'd worked with countless models in their various stages of nakedness and it never usually phased him, but he finds himself staring at this one. The way he carries himself, how naturally he seems to slip into his poses - he’s a damned work of art. 

Leonard swallows dryly and has to remind himself that he's a grown adult and doesn't make goo-goo eyes at whatever fine piece walks in the door. Raising the camera to line up a shot, he watches his subject with a trained eye. 

“You got a name, kid?” he asks after getting a few shots of the model’s overall pose, now stepping in to get some bust shots and close ups.

Jim feels a shiver run down his spine at the man’s question. The southern drawl is definitely a surprise, albeit a pleasant one. It suits the man’s demeanor. Jim waits until the photographer is pausing to look at his last shot before answering.

“Doesn’t everyone? _Old man_ ” Jim can’t help but add the last part. _Kid _, how young does this guy think he is?  
When the man doesn’t answer straight away Jim moves into a different pose., this time stretching an arm upwards to better display his side profile.__

____

“It’s Jim.”

With a highly dramatised eyeroll, Leonard leans in somewhat to get a more dynamic angle.

“Usually. Original comebacks though? That's evidently more rare,” he bites back, barely trying to keep the self-amusement out of his tone. Humming in a flat but inspired way, he calls off to the side for an assistant to bring a light in closer.

“Tell me then Jim, how’d you land yourself here?” he ushers in the midst of directing the man’s shoulders to open up more. Leonard had made of habit of talking to most of his models throughout the years. Not because he was particularly chatty, and even less so that he was very approachable or most people’s idea of _friendly_. No, connecting with the man behind the camera translated to connecting with the camera itself, and naturally the viewer once the image was finalised and processed.  
However, he'd be lying if he said there wasn't a little genuine curiosity behind his current interrogation.

“Here as in being a model? Or here as in prancing around in my underwear?” Jim can’t hold back a wink as he gestures to his body. “I thought both were obvious.”

He highlights his point even further by turning for a booty shot. Being sure to twist his head the way he’d been carefully taught. His back is the main focus for the shot but one of his blue eyes and his charming smile are still in frame.

Through the flashes of the camera he tries to make out the Southern man’s facial responses. Jim wasn’t used to photographers being so chatty. The ones that were usually ended up being creeps with a distorted image of the type of people models were.  
Most of those creeps also got some sick power rush with the control they had over the models, instructing their postures and poses and commanding what emotions they should be conveying. Some of them believed their power went further than the shoot they were involved in.  
While he didn’t get that impression from the man before him, he can’t shake the usual wariness.

Leonard considers reprimanding the cocky behaviour, but by the time the other man has turned around, the photographer is tight lipped and his eyebrows are acquainting themselves with his hairline.

 _‘Point proven,’_ he inwardly muses before ducking behind the shield of his lens once more. Drooling is never professional. Satisfied with the ground they had covered, Leonard scoops himself up from the kneeling position he had situated himself in and scans the workshop behind him.

“Props, we need… ahh,” he nods to himself and makes a dive for an old-style classroom chair. Plopping it into the middle of the photoshoot space, backwards to the camera, Leonard sends a “How’s your _bad-boy-straight-outta-detention_ impression?” Jim’s way, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

Jim scoffs at the man in disbelief, arching an eyebrow in response.

“After my years of experience? I’d say perfect.”

To illustrate his point, Jim swings a leg over the chair. His stance is wide and inviting. He schools his features to portray a cocky and confident grin, resting his chin on one fist on top of the back of the chair while his other grips diagonally across the back of the chair.  
He closes his eyes for a moment before popping them open. His gaze sharpens and he glares wickedly into the lense of the camera.

“You know, you never mentioned your name”

“I should have known,” Leonard admittedly chuckles and shakes his head faintly. Raising the camera for a new shot from an upward angle, he adjusts the lighting to accentuate the man’s dreamy- _blue_ , blue and totally not dreamy eyes. The shutter clicks a few more times, the occasional concentrated grunt leaving him as he'd mess with the focus or prompt Jim to change pose.

“It's... McCoy,” he mutters, meeting the model’s gaze with a gesture to his own self reminiscent of Jim’s earlier one, except on the side of lacklustre. “Leonard McCoy.”

Jim grins down at the crouching man.

“Quite the mouthful, _Leonard_ ,” Jim rolls the name off his tongue, surprised by how right it sounds. “You got a nickname?” He changes his pose to a less aggressive one, arching his back and baring his neck slightly, trying to convey a more vulnerable position. He lets his eyes glaze over just slightly for added effect.

“I feel for whoever's waitin’ for you at home if you think _that's_ a mouthful,” Leonard shrugs meagerly despite the playful smirk tugging at his lips. “I ain't got much but my bones, kid. Sorry to disappoint.”

After flicking through the small collection of photos he has now built up, Leonard offers up the camera for Jim to look through them for himself. Common practise in case the model wanted to change anything or had more ideas, but something in the pit of Leonard's stomach actually… churns some, yearning for some sort of approval from the curious man before him.

Kirk ~~ironically~~ almost chokes at Leonard’s comment. _Oh_ if only this guy knew just how much of a mouthful Kirk could take…

“Bones huh?” Jim teases as he taps through the photos on the camera.  
The angles Bones took were definitely unique. Jim finds himself mesmerised by them.  
He’d seen hundreds if not thousand of photos of himself, but none like these.  
He was used to photographers going for _sexy_ angles with these kinds of shoots but somehow Leonard had captured something else. An elegance almost. An adjective that Kirk rarely used to describe himself, especially when looking at his underwear shoots. 

“These- these are incredible” He exclaims, catching the man’s hazel eyes.

 _‘A simple_ wow, cool _would have done the trick, Jesus,’_ Leonard shrieks inwardly, hating how he can feel his face heating up under the awestruck look Jim’s giving him.

“Well, I can't exactly take all the credit,” he mutters modestly, scratching at the back of his neck and averting his gaze to anything that isn't the nearly naked Adonis that has more emotional bandwidth than he had signed up for.  
Naturally, he knows his work is up to industry standard - he wouldn't be standing in one of the highest listed studios in San Francisco if it wasn't. But receiving a compliment on it that wasn't solely concerned with whether it could go on a magazine cover or not… wasn't something he had dealt with in in a rather depressingly long time.

Jim smirks fondly at the flustered man, curious as to how such a talented photographer seemed almost startled at his compliments.

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a modest man, Bones.”  
He carefully hands the camera back, positive it is worth more than a month's worth of shoots.  
The same assistant as earlier scuttles over carrying his silk robe, breaking the moment that had been building between the pair. 

“I think that’s my cue to exit,” Jim grimaces, slipping his arms through the robe.  
Off to the side he can see the upcoming female model waiting, red lingerie contrasting her petite pale frame. Jim is sure Bones will make her look absolutely mystifying with just a couple of clicks, he isn’t sure why that thought evokes a deep feeling inside him. 

“Anyways- thanks and uhh, good luck with the rest of the shoot,” Jim stammers out, unexpectedly feeling tongue tied.

__A more witty response was on the tip of his tongue about how they hadn't known each other all that long and _there are many things you don't know about me yet_ , but the universe beats Leonard to it in the form of the assistant. An only slightly frantic snap of his head in Jim’s direction makes the realisation that yes, they needed to move on, sink in. _ _

Sparing a glance in the direction of the next model, Leonard can see that she's pretty and likely knows her angles, which makes for a compliant camera subject. But the preoccupied way she focuses on herself and has her nose in a phone tells him that an immaculate conversationalist is not something to expect of her. At least that's what he tells himself is the reason he's reaching after Jim to catch his elbow.

“Do you, uhm… Have a business card or something? So I can find you somewhere. To send on previews,” Leonard lets the words tumble from his mouth, unnecessarily hurried and barely his own as his mouth is running 2.5 seconds faster than his brain can keep up. “If you want them, of course."

Jim knows he should really answer the question but he’s left speechless by the warmth of the man’s grip. A firm yet gentle hold on his elbow has him completely floored. It takes every inch of his will to not stare dumbly at the contact and instead he holds the man’s gaze. He manages to pull himself together long enough to swallow, lick his lips and reply.

“Oh- yeah, I do, it’s in my-” he gestures vaguely towards the changing room. “In my bag.”  
He probably should have stopped there, kept things professional. Moreover it would have prevented the flirty word vomit that's about to follow.

“Of course, if it’s my number you want, all I need is your phone”

As soon as the sentence leaves his lips he regrets it. The man probably wanted his e-mail or his agency. Damn he does actually want those previews…

Leonard attempts to mouth the beginnings of a good handful of words, but is only ripped from his stupor by the next model clearing her throat to get his attention, a hand on her hip as impatience claims the rest of her features.

“Just a moment, darlin’,” he assures her, retrieving the hand he hadn’t realised was still adorning Jim’s elbow despite the obviousness of him not going anywhere just yet. Fumbling his phone out of his back pocket and making every attempt not to drop it, he finally starts at it to open the keypad.

“Okay… here we are,” with a relieved sigh, he presents the device to Jim and sinks his hands deep into his pockets. A grown man’s palms getting sweaty at the mere prospect of getting a phone number can't register as anything except irrational in Leonard's head. Aside from embarrassing, but that doesn't help his case nor the godforsaken need to fidget with something in the slightest.

Jim holds the phone in almost disbelief. He did not think that was going to work.  
His hands were trembling as he typed but he manages to get his number down. He hesitates when entering the contact’s name. In his defense, he does consider putting his real name down but it's just too easy to type in **Captain Sexy**.

He hands the phone back, trying to look as innocent as possible. He lets his finger’s brush Bones’ as he withdraws his hand, the motion sending tingles spidering up his arm.  
By now lingerie girl looks seconds away from a full diva meltdown and her glare is now fixated on Jim. Definitely time to retreat.

“See you around Bones.”

He itches to look back as he heads for the dressing room but won’t allow himself to. He’d hopefully see Leonard again, he had a good feeling about him.

Leonard hated to see Jim leave, but by god if he wasn't in a trance watching him go. He manages a meager “Goodbye, Jim,” with the faintest of smiles curving his lips as he pockets his phone.

The skin of his hand still feels alive with electricity from where the model had touched off of him - shamefully adolescent and childish of him to indulge in the sensation of, but he can't quite bring himself to argue. Before the crew gets the chance to behead him for the delays, Leonard turns to the set and clears the chair out of the way, readying himself for another round.

The rest of the afternoon rolls by in something of a haze. Some incredibly talented models had strutted their stuff in front of the photographer’s lens, flaunting their bodies and making their various styles of underwear look like they were made for them. Leonard's mind constantly threatens to wander, forcing his body into autopilot mode so as to stay on task. It's almost sundown by the time the photoshoot comes to a conclusion, Leonard being one of the last to leave the newly barren studio.

With a tired huff, he sets off into the cool evening air in search of a train home. As he perches himself against the wall of the respective subway car, he tentatively fishes his camera out of its bag and stares down at it. Chewing the inside of his cheek almost anxiously, he turns it on and sifts back through the gallery of that day's pictures. Vaguely familiar splotches of coloured fabric on skin flash by, until those unforgettable baby blues bore into him and he's once more transfixed.  
The professional in him kicks and screams, chastising himself for getting so involved. But… a small part of him that he hadn't really heard from in a while, that fills his chest with warmth and draws that shy smile from before back out onto the surface, thanks its blessings that his impulse control had slipped for the few eternal seconds it took to get Jim’s number earlier.


	2. Correspondence

**I hope you realise how much of a damned heart attack I nearly had finding a contact called CAPTAIN SEXY on my phone _sent from UNKNOWN NUMBER @ 17:35pm_**

A few days had since passed after the photoshoot - because life and a job happen, totally not procrastination over something as simple as a text message, for fear of coming on too strong - and Leonard is shaking his head down at his phone incredulously, tapping away at it one-handedly while the other goes about preparing dinner.  
Admittedly, he did almost drop the device while first scrolling through his contact list earlier in the day and happening upon the lucrative title Jim had given himself. Luckily, he had gone searching while in the comforts of his own home because, if he had been in public, he may well have screamed.

Jim’s shoot finishes up at around 6pm and it’s not until he’s on the bus home that he notices the notification. His hands tremble with barely contained excitement as he skims his fingertip over his phones scanner, unlocking it.  
It’s difficult to remember the last time he’d been this thrilled to see a text message from someone. Jim had never experienced that angsty teenage stage of waiting around all day for your crush to text you. He had always been said crush that didn’t text, and anyways he had been too busy driving off cliffs to think about relationships and pining.

He swipes open the message and can’t help but chuckle at the offended tone it holds. As the bus stops then starts again a young woman sits down beside him and Jim finds himself scooting to the window seat as his fingers race across the keyboard. 

**If only I’d been there, I could have given you the kiss of life (; _sent from Captain Sexy @ 18:24pm_**

Jim smirks out the window, willing himself to not stare at his phone as he awaits a reply.

Only having burned his fingers twice and his dinner itself marginally, Leonard has sat himself down with his plate at the dining table by the time his phone, face down next to him, buzzes.

**Hands-only CPR is recommended practise these days, but I appreciate the sentiment _sent from UNKNOWN NUMBER @ 18:31pm_**

Stabbing into a piece of chicken, Leonard can't fight the familiar tug at the corner of his lips as he hits send. He had tried his hand at the whole new age cyber flirting thing before, genuinely, but the old school romantic in him never quite took to it. He knows the game these gorgeous toy boy types play, and yet on this occasion his usual repulsion for them seems to be quelled at bay.

Jim’s phone buzzes as he hops off the bus but he’s forced to ignore it as he raises both arms in an attempt to shield himself from the torrent of rain. He finds himself sprinting down the lanes leading to his apartment block, it’s only when he’s standing soaking wet in the elevator that he lets himself check his phone.  
He beams at the man’s retort, gnawing thoughtfully at his lip as he tries to formulate a response.

**Didn’t know you were a doctor, Bones. But I can definitely see you in the attire _sent from Captain Sexy @ 18:37pm_**

Doctor Bones, Jim sniggers to himself as he changes the now saved number to **Dr Bones**. The ping of the elevator brings his focus away from his screen and he scuttles down the hallway to his door, slipping his phone into his back pocket as he unlocks it.

**Something tells me scrubs and a lab coat isn’t the first place your head went. Maybe in another life _sent from Dr Bones @ 18:40pm_**

Again Leonard finds himself shaking his head, making an exasperated but not entirely unhappy noise. Only short of licking the plate clean himself, he gives the table a quick wipe with a napkin before shuffling back into the kitchen to tidy up. It’s as if the countertops and pots and pans hadn't been touched at all by the time he's satisfied, then taking to the living room to put his feet up at long last. 

For a moment he hesitates, considering how to phrase the fact that Jim had been tap dancing on his mind without being too formal and scientific about the matter, but not flippant either. Why this troubles him to such a degree is anybody's guess, but retrieving his phone from his pocket once more, he nonetheless begins to type.

**How have you been? _sent from Dr Bones @ 18:46pm_**

Jim’s just out of the shower when he hears his phone ping from across the bathroom. He ties a towel around his waist before waddling over to the counter to check it.  
He scoffs at Leonard’s sassy reply, a comeback on the tip of his tongue before he reads the second message. 

It’s funny how the most normal message in their conversation is the one to leave Jim speechless. He hesitates for a moment, finding it more difficult to give an actual serious response to the photographer. Jim’s not used to people genuinely asking about him. He also feels his next response would be a good representation of the kind of man Jim is, behind his coquettish mask.

**Honestly? Damp. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much rain in March :( _sent from Captain Sexy @ 18:54_**

Leonard finds himself humming sympathetically, musing over the kicked-puppy look his mind’s eye dubs the man on the other side of the screen to have with a wet mop of hair and a pout.

**Does fashion dictate a jacket and umbrella out of your vocabulary? :P _sent from Dr Bones @ 18:58pm_**

The photographer cringes inwardly, not particularly confident in his use of emoticons. Getting texts from his nine year-old daughter was like trying to decrypt the Rosetta Stone sometimes with the number of odd yellow faces and symbols she liked to slot in everywhere, but the desensitisation to them proved… handy, even if a relatively niche conundrum.

Kirk’s eyebrows hike up at the revelation that _Bones uses emojis_. He shakes his head, flicking droplets off the tips of his hair, at the not so subtle model dig in the message. 

**Wow Bones thanks for the sympathy :( and yes, umbrellas are definitely out of fashion! Only old men use them these days… so how many do you have?? _sent from Captain Sexy @ 19:00pm_**

Kirk only realises when he’s drying himself off and slipping into sweatpants that he didn’t actually know Leonard’s age. He was just assuming by the man’s look and easiness to refer to Jim as “kid” that Leonard was older than him. There was no way he could be younger than 23.

Leonard's features slowly draw into a frown, sparing a glance towards his hall door and the stout rack affixed to the back of it, where three umbrellas had been given homes to hang from. Initially fully ready to defend how different levels of rain called for different protection - not to even get him started on _wind_ as a factor to consider - he quickly checks himself and decides to tell a half-truth.

**My singular umbrella and I are very happy together, Jim. Not a lick of sense on you if you don't think fortune favours the prepared _sent from Dr Bones @ 19:03pm_**

Jim snorts into his tea at the sight of Bones new text, flopping backwards onto the couch his right hand is already working out a response.

**Singular...sure Bones, didn’t realise you were taken ;) Where’s the adventure in always being prepared? _sent from Captain Sexy @ 19:05pm_**

Jim itches to add a smart remark on the “lick” comment of Bones’ text but decides against it, he likes how their conversation is now flowing. Not to mention the butterflies in his stomach that are going off at just the thought of Bones’ response to Jim’s little relationship dig, it made him wary of diluting the message too much.

Taking a moment to reach over and paw a glass atop the nearby cabinet closer, Leonard makes the task of retrieving the bottle of Bourbon within and pouring himself a double of it unnecessarily tedious as he refuses to lose his good spot on the couch and does everything leaning from the hips. He tried not to drink to excess most of the time - alcohol had been the wedge that drove his marriage apart after all - but an indulgent moment here or there wasn’t a sin, was it?  
Sinking back into himself with his glass prized to his chest, he makes a contented noise upon hearing the ping of Jim’s response. It falls flat at the word “taken” though, making the brunet’s mouth go dry. It’d look pretty damn desperate to correct the man, to say _actually buddy, there’s a space free on the Leonard Express, hop on!_ would push the bounds of ludicrousy even more so. The only logical conclusion he comes to is… just not answering.

**Feel free to disagree, but an adventure without pneumonia by the end of it sounds pretty damn good in my opinion _sent from Dr Bones @ 19:09pm_**

**Ah so you are an adventurer after all? You ever left the country? _sent from Captain Sexy @ 19:10pm_**

Mentioning travel brings Paris to the forefront of Jim's mind. He'd been so preoccupied with Bones that'd be forgotten about the famous fashion show currently taking place there.  
He grabs the remote for the TV and quickly surfs through the channels to find it.  
They're still on the part where they interview the designers outside the event though so Jim turns his attention back to his phone, waiting for the actual show to begin.  
It’s the models he’s tuning in for anyways.  
He scrolls mindlessly through Instagram waiting for Bones’ response.

**That’s putting it generously _sent from Dr Bones @ 19:15pm_**

Leonard recalls his younger years, how he had once been the kind of free-spirited something-teen year old that would go cliff diving and for high speed drives into the night. But then being a dad and indeed a husband happened and suddenly it wasn't just his own life he'd be juggling with his reckless behaviour. That then leads him on to Jim’s actual question. He deflates a little - just how much of your personal life do you disclose to somebody you've talked to a total of twice, the current conversation inclusive? _Hey, my ex-wife hasn't brought herself to look me in the eye in nearly three years and lets me see my daughter once in a blue moon, what's your baggage?_ doesn't usually translate to high spirited conversation. Talk about a topic that would need at least 6 shots of something very strong. Thus, he chooses his words carefully.

**A few times to Europe for family vacations, but that was all a while ago. How about you, any foreign runways yet? _sent from Dr Bones @ 19:16pm_**

It's like a punch to the gut. Jim closes his eyes for a moment, he can actually feel his chest compressing inwards stifling his ability to breath.  
Of course. Of course Leonard has a family.  
He read this all wrong, the man no doubt had a loving wife at home with kids or something.  
He rubs at his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling like a complete moron.  
He clicks his phone off to standby. 

The models were starting to come out. Jim tries to focus on that, but he's itching to reply.  
What was he expecting out of texting this man anyways? A relationship? A one night stand?  
_Someone to talk to?_  
Jim sighs at himself, there’s no point in being rude.

**If you count Canada as foreign, sure. _sent from Captain Sexy @ 19:31pm_**

The delay in Jim’s response, even if short, admittedly stirs something in the pit of Leonard's stomach. A total overreaction, he tells himself, because the guy is probably just in the middle of something or talking to somebody else at the same time. It is in no way a big deal. And yet it doesn't subside until the little bubble of text coming from Jim’s end fills once more, making tension in Leonard's shoulders that he hadn't quite realised he was holding ease up.

**Might as well be, the travel is that far _sent from Dr Bones @ 19:32pm_**

For a moment, Leonard stares at the far wall, and can't quite quell the ache in his chest to find out more about Jim - Jim the model, Jim the man, Jim the possible vintage sticker collector for all he knows. And so, with fingers almost crossed that he is some quirky postage medium fanatic for the sheer hilarity of it, the photographer adds a **What are you up to?** to the end of his text. _‘Nothing says more about a person than how they spend a Friday evening, right?’_ he muses to himself and the half empty glass resting on his sternum.

Jim can't help his stomach flipping at the sight of another text from Bones.  
So what if he has a family? They can still be friends. It was Jim’s own stupidity that lead him to creating some fantasy in his head. It wouldn’t be fair to just ghost this guy because of Jim’s error. Plus, Jim wasn’t sure he could stop messaging at this point, this grumpy talented man had him too intrigued.

**Watching the Paris fashion show, they really upped their game this year but damn some of these looks are... outrageous to say the least xD _sent from Captain Sexy @ 19:34pm_**

Jim's eyes flick up to the pink coloured, peacock inspired monstrosity currently making its way down the catwalk.  
Definitely outrageous. But he has to admit to himself, he is jealous.

With a curious hum, Leonard takes to Google in his ignorance to find out where he might be able to stream aforementioned fashion show. It wouldn't be his first choice of programming, but maybe taking a leaf out of Jim’s book and being more adventurous wasn't such a horrible idea. Casting it to his TV, he’s visibly taken aback by the outlandish burst of colour he's met with. Sure, he had worked on his fair share of couture photoshoots and even a few costume-based events, but by god. Dagger heels with chunky platforms as well as a giant plume of feathers for a headdress? The model on screen looks nearly 8 foot tall.

**You can say that again. Those shoes look like they could take somebody's eye out in one fell swoop _sent from Dr Bones @ 19:38pm_**

Jim almost spits his tea out in a fit of laughter.

**Always the optimist Bones _sent from Captain Sexy @ 19:39pm_**

Not that the man was wrong. Jim was at a loss for how the models could stride so confidently down the catwalk, their hips swaying to the beat of the music and their bodies angling perfectly at the end of the ramp. Their poses are being captured and catalogued by all the biggest fashion magazines, their photos would be seen by thousands, if not millions of people.  
They were, in Jim’s mind, true models. 

The few times Jim had worn heels for shoots or found himself parading down a catwalk had been some of the most nerve-wracking times of his life.  
He’d seen the photos afterwards, a deer caught in headlights was the best analogy he could use to describe them.  
It’s his ability to ooze confidence that makes his modeling what it is. When you take that away, he just looks ridiculous. 

A model draped in lemon themed attire makes an appearance on the catwalk. She’s a stark contrast from the others, no pastels or softness. Her make-ups all harsh lines and edges, her ebony hair stands out against the colour code of her outfit and to top it all off, she’s stomping fearlessly down the ramp in heels that would make stilts look small.

**Do you think the lemon lady would stomp on me if I asked her nicely? _sent from Captain Sexy @ 19:43pm_**

Leonard snorts, genuinely snorts upon reading Jim’s latest choice of commentary, damn near speechless as he reads it again and again to try make some sense of it.  
Though his knowledge of what the hip kids were getting up to these days is limited, young models he had worked with pointing to random objects and yelling mood or announcing their desire for an attractive actor to _spit_ on them rings through the back of his mind. This stomping business must be along the same lines of approval?

**She strikes me as more the type to tell you to beg _sent from Dr Bones @ 19:45pm_**

It’s safe to say it’s not one of Jim’s proudest moments when he finds himself choking on his own saliva in utter shock of Leonard’s abruptness.  
He takes a careful sip of his tea while wiping the tears from his eyes. He spins his phone in his hand, his leg a jittery mess, both showing off how giddy he is.  
Sucking on his bottom lip and nipping it slightly he carefully types out the next message.

**You’d know all about that type huh? _sent from Captain Sexy @ 19:47pm_**

Jim can’t help but giggle to himself at how Bones would react to this one.  
Loud applause from his TV speakers draw his attention back to the catwalk as the monochrome segment begins.

Blinking slowly and sucking his tongue over his teeth, Leonard casts a gaze by way of the TV and wonders why he had been so timid about talking to this guy in the first place. With a conviction that would set the tone for much of the rest of his messages that night, the photographer - knowing exactly the impliances of his words - concluded;

**Watch your damn program, you brat _sent from Dr Bones @ 19:49pm_**

_Brat_  
It’s like this guy is just asking for innuendos. He’s seconds away from typing back “Daddy Bones” before once again reality hits. Bones probably is a daddy, like an actual one.  
He decides to just heed the man’s tone and starts to focus more on the show.

Jim spends the next few hours watching the catwalks, the interviews with the models, even the afterparty. All the while he’s texting Bones on his opinions of the outfits, the gossip behind most of the models and what delightful and totally appropriate questions he would have asked had he been one of the many interviewers.  
When his eyes start to droop and he finds himself curling up more and more into the couch he doesn’t even fight it, condemning himself to a sore neck and back tomorrow as he drifts off to sleep, his phone still clutched tightly in his left hand.


	3. A Predicament In Five Inch Heels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Use of homophobic slurs and depictions of homophobic violence in this chapter

Through the mist and tears in his windswept eyes, Kirk can just about make out the shelter of the bus stop.  
Even over the roaring of the weather he can hear his heels clacking on the pavement. Every few steps, he finds his heels catching in the cracks and bumps of the concrete and he’s positive he’ll twist an ankle long before he makes it home.  
The fishnets covering his arms and legs do little to stop goosebumps from decorating his skin and the black leather skirt he’s wearing seems to be an even worse shield against the elements. 

He thinks at the beginning of the night he might of had a black leather jacket to match but, after the party, the only thing covering his chest is a low V-neck white crop top with the word _SLUT_ strewn across it in red that he’s sure he wasn’t wearing at the beginning of the night.  
It’s only when his hand grasps the metal pole attached to the bus stop that he realises the neon sign that reads when the next bus is arriving is blank.

His groggy mind manages to pull his phone out of his silvery sparkled clutch and even through the haze of alcohol he knows no buses come to this stop at 2 in the morning.  
His body slumps against the pole, his forehead pressed painfully against the freezing metal.

What the fuck would he do now?

Before his drunken mind can formulate - no doubt - an ingenious way out of this conundrum, a hand taps his shoulder.  
He turns gracefully, only mildly swaying, to come face to face with a burly man. The man is covered with a large green coat and his hair is hidden under a black woolen beanie. The only defining features Jim can make out in the rain is the man’s unruly beard and bushy eyebrows.  
Before Jim can even muster a hello, he finds himself sprawled across the pavement, his ribs clashing violently against the concrete, his heels clinking together painfully. His face is just a white flash of pain, from both the impact of the punch and it smashing against the ground.

Before he can collect himself, a sharp pain is sent shooting through his stomach and lower ribs as a boot covered foot kicks harshly into his side.  
A warm liquid slaps the side of his face, different to the coolness of the rain and it takes Jim’s brain a moment to realise it’s spit.

“ **Fag** ,” the man sneers down at him and Jim can’t even find the energy to lift his chin or eyes to watch the man leave.  
He struggles to pull his phone up to his face, the side of the screen now littered with uneven cracks. He’s opened his contacts before he’s thought of who to message.  
Dr Bones is the first one to catch his eyes.

A doctor, that’s what he’d need now. A doctor could help him.  
He hits the call dial and listens to the beeps ring out around him.  
It takes a while but, eventually, someone picks up.  
Before they can speak Jim yells into the phone;

“Doctor, I think I may need surgery!”

Given the weather, Leonard had confined himself to his apartment that evening. It needed a good cleaning anyway, and the constant activity of being around people all week had frankly drained him - a couple of hours to himself to put some order on his surroundings always did him some good to recharge. After he’s given the kitchen counter a final wipedown and is sitting on the edge of his bed ready to climb in, his phone starts to ring on the bedside table. The plastering of **Captain Sexy** across the screen makes him chuckle, thinking fondly back on the numerous conversations he has shared with Jim in the last few weeks. Ready to playfully chastise him about how late it is as he raises the device to his ear, Leonard is stopped in his tracks by the peculiar slur to the man’s voice and the heavy interference in the background.

“Surgery...? Jim, what's wrong? Where are you?” he barks, eyebrows drawn together with concern dripping thickly from his words.

Where was he? What kind of question was that?

“I- I’m at the bus Bones, _duhh_.”

Jim starts to quietly giggle, “Bus bones, bus bones... it kinda rhymes, Bones!”

A crack of thunder in the distant silences him

“... Oh that doesn’t sound good, Doctor.”

Jim tries to sit up, only to have the world spin around him. He manages to half-sit-up-half-slump against the side of the bus shelter.

“The clouds sound angry.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Leonard sighs heavily. It'd been what felt like an eon since he'd been on the receiving end of drunken babble, but the fact he isn't entirely surprised to be getting it from his friend worries him even further.  
Getting to his feet and making light work of pulling a jacket and earlier’s tracksuit bottoms back on, he jogs into the kitchen to grab his car keys and shoes. Why Jim is outside in this much downpour is beyond him, but there’s no way in hell he’s about to trust Jim being able to get himself home in such a state. 

“You little…” he begins to grumble, but calms upon reminding himself that ultimatums and insults don't get through very well to the impaired. “Listen t’me, Jim. What do you mean you're at the bus? Like a stop?”

Stop?

Jim smiles “Don’t stop never give up-” 

He can’t help but laugh at his own singing.

“Yes Bones, a stop” He rolls his eyes dramatically. Didn’t the doctor know anything?

He squints up at the sign

“420 Bones,” he finds himself giggling at himself again “BLAZE IT!”

Jim erupts into full blown belly laughter at this point. Couldn’t the doctor hear how funny he was?!?

It takes all of his strength of will for Leonard not to throw his phone against the far wall. Getting any information directly seems like it's going to be more tedious than coaxing a cat out from under a warm car’s undercarriage. However, the brief mention of the number catches his attention and, with his shoes pulled on and jacket zipped up, he's straight-faced and in motion.

“I'm coming to get you,” Leonard announces into his phone, balancing it between his ear and his shoulder as he locks his door and nearly sprints down the many waiting flights of stairs to get to the carpack and indeed his car. “Can you promise me not to move?”

Move? Could Jim move? He glances down at his heels, not quite sure how he'd coordinate them to a standing position.  
Also, any movement of his torso seemed to spark pain across the area that hit both the pavement and the man's boot.

“Sir yes sir,” he mumbles into the phone, suddenly feeling very sleepy.  
“I think-I think I'm gonna sleep bones, very sleepy-”

“No, nuh-uh you needa stay awake,” Leonard presses while putting the call on speaker and getting into the driver seat, his drawl coming through to the surface at full swing like it always does when he's under high stress. With the phone in his lap and the engine springing to life, he should be more wary of speed limits and not hitting any pedestrians as he takes off into the street, but something primal and urgent deep in the pit of his gut can only see Jim, soaked to the skin and vulnerable, and the rest of his mind goes blank. _Get to him_. “What's around you, whaddya see?”

See?

“I see rain, lots of rain. My purse is all glittery! Ummmm, I passed a Walmart on the way here?”

Jim scans the road, the rain is coming down in pellets now. He watches as they smack off the road, the rain seemingly bouncing upwards again.  
He squints through the shower of rain and make out a giant dog's face.

“There's a dog across from me, his head’s huge bones. All poka dots!”

Had he been in any other mood, Leonard might have questioned the mention of a purse of all things, but there isn't enough space in his bubble of thoughts for it as he plots a mental map of the bus stops he knows around the nearest Walmart. Jim may well be in another city for all the photographer knows, but even while inebriated he likely had more sense than to call him first in such a case. Or so he hopes.

It takes a few trips down dead end side streets and several deflated huffs, accompanied naturally by mindless questions outloud to keep the model at the other end of the line talking, but eventually Leonard spots a squared away bus shelter and a blob of colour sagged into the pavement next to it. With a ragged breath of relief he hadn't realised he was holding, Leonard stops the car and leaps out of it without even tuning the engine off.

“Jim!” he calls out erratically, not even having time to register the sharp needling of icy water on his skin as he ducks to his friend’s side.

Jim groggily looks up as a man approaches him.  
Is this the same man as before? His heart thuds in his chest and he draws his knees closer on instinct, trying to curl up more.  
However as the figure reaches him and he hears that southern drawl cut through the curtain of rain, his body sags.

Bones. 

“Bones!” he says, out loud this time. “My prince in shining army,” he jokes, just able to raise his chin to look at the man, ignorant to his own butchering of a common phrase.  
He takes in the wrinkled look of Bones’ face, nothing like the smooth calm expression the man had worn the day of the shoot. His eyebrows are a creased line of concern and his face is twisted into an expression that Jim can't quite place.

It could have been concern, or maybe disgust. Probably the latter considering the mess Jim must look right now.

He can feel blood from his nose drying around his chin and lips, probably not a very appealing sight. 

Leonard can feel his heart plummet as his eyes land on Jim. The cocky grin and mischievous twinkle that he'd grown so used to are nowhere to be seen, replaced by blood that refuses to clot in the rain and posture more akin to a ragdoll than that of a person. Leonard feels his entire upper body tremble and countless emotions flash through his mind - first confusion, then white hot anger - but he tames this long enough to register that staring at the poor man isn't going to help him.  
Snapping back to reality, he wrangles his jacket from his shoulders and sinks to his knees, bundling the model forward a little to drape the article around his beaten frame.

“Jesus Jim, y’look like shit,” he hisses to hide the quiver in his voice, taking aforementioned blond’s face between his hands and inspecting it this way and that. The bright red bruises staining his cheeks and lips don't seem major, but the very sight of them makes Leonard’s blood _boil_. “Just can’t keep yourself outta trouble, can you?”

Jim tries to hold back a whimper as he glances at the man's hands cupping his cheeks.

“Trouble generally finds me,” he half whispers, not sure if he wants Bones to hear him over the rain.  
He doesn't realise he's crying until the other man slides a thumb across his cheek to catch a hot tear.

“I'm cold, Bones.” 

Leonard decides then and there, if there's anything he can do about it, the pain and dejection in Jim’s eyes is something he never wants to see again.

“C’mon, let's get you someplace warm then,” he assures, a softer edge to his voice as he reaches under the other man’s arm and carefully hauls him up to support his weight on his shoulders. Whether it's the burst of adrenaline that hasn't worn off yet or a real world fact, Jim is notably lighter than anticipated, and so Leonard helps him to the car with relative ease.

“Th'nks Bones,” Jim mumbles as he finds himself being strapped into the car.  
He immediately slumps against the window, resting his throbbing face again the cool glass.

Content with the knowledge that Jim is securely in the passenger seat and won't be jostled too much, Leonard gets in on the driver's side and straps himself in. Sparing a glance the younger man’s way, that same sinking feeling from before hits Leonard square in the chest as just how roughed up the guy is is more visible without the sheen of rain to mask most of it.  
He had initially intended to just drive Jim home, make sure he was safe then check on him in the morning, but having seen the damage for himself? No way. Turning the heating system up and the radio on at a low volume, Leonard pulls off in the direction of home.

Once parked and having Jim unbuckled from the seat, Leonard thanks all of his blessings that the apartment complex has an elevator. With a sturdy arm around the blond’s shoulders, he carts him into the lift and assures him with a quiet “We’ll get you a towel and something dry to wear, that sound good?” while pressing the appropriate button to get to his floor.

Jim starts to panic slightly as the elevator door closes. He couldn't walk into Bones’ apartment like _this_.

“N-no!” he starts to whine, turning his head to burrow into Leonard's shoulder “I-I can't Bones, have to go home.”  
He hopes Bones can understand his mumbles. Jim doesn't want to meet Bones’ wife like this or any children he may have. 

“Can't let them see me like this-”

With a perplexed frown, Leonard looks down at Jim. Sure, the outfit the guy has on is probably not his proudest decision, and anybody would be self conscious all puffy eyed and battered as he is. But who is this _them_?

“Hey, look at me,” Leonard beckons, pulling away a little to give Jim’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze despite not fully understanding what the problem is. “I can take you home, we can do that. But let me getcha a sweater or something at least, you're freezin’-”

Jim groans as the elevator opens, Bones tugging gently at him, his arm firmly around his shoulders balancing him as they begin walking down a brightly lit corridor.  
It was as Bones began to slow down that the situation really hit Jim.

“Bones- Bones, no,” he speaks louder and clearer this time as he awkwardly tries to dig his heels in, to stop them moving any further.

“Your wife, she's going to be so mad. I could- I could wake everyone up. I don't want to make- don't want anyone to be angry-”

All of a sudden, it's as if time slows down. _Wife_? _Everyone_? All this time, had Jim thought…?

“Oh, for the love of-” Leonard presses his face into his hands and lets out a long breath, feeling a genuine bordering on hysterical chuckle tickling the back of his throat in the process. Those countless evenings where their conversations would be going great and all of a sudden certain topics were cut off, or Jim refusing a phone call for fear of it being too late in the evening or too much noise. All of them, they all made sense.  
Hands still clasped at either side of his temples, Leonard looks into Jim’s poor worried eyes and can only shake his head in bemusement. Until then, he had taken the factor of alcohol in the model’s system very seriously and it was not something he would dream of taking advantage of, but now he can't help himself.

“What exactly do you think is waiting behind this door, James T Kirk?”

Jim is taken slightly aback by both the softness and seriousness in the other man's eyes.  
The gaze is intense enough to briefly sober Jim up. Even drunk he can feel the importance of his next few words.

“Your- your family Bones,” he manages to choke out. “The one you take abroad!” 

Jim can't think straight, can't fathom why Bones is torturing him like this. Doesn't the man know what he does to Jim? How _painful_ it is to know behind the door in front of them is the reality that ruins Jim's fantasy?

The reality that crushes the rising feelings Jim so often gets when they text, when they call. How often Jim has to cut himself off from that high that each flirty text injects into him.  
Does Bones not get that? What happens when he does? When he realises the twisted thoughts Jim has about the subtext of their chats? Would he block Jim out completely?

“I'm sorry...” he adds, an afterthought after his internal meltdown.  
It doesn't feel adequate, but maybe it'll salvage something for Kirk to cling to.

Leonard hangs off every word, listening with more intent than he'd given anything since- well, probably the day Jocelyn placed the divorce papers on the dinner table in front of him and said _we need to talk_. Only that day had left him feeling hollow, numb, like the colour was slowly seeping out of the world and all he would be left with was grey.  
But this… this was a splotch of colour on the previously bleak canvas of his life, piercing blue like a well needed gasp of air.  
Taking Jim’s wrists in his hands, firm but somehow also gentle, Leonard speaks with a tone level enough to put a wailing baby at ease.

“My _wife_ and I… haven't been together for nearly two years, Jim. She doesn't live with me, hell the woman barely speaks to me these days. Going abroad, that was years ago. And if it does come up, it's just for Joanna- our daughter. But she doesn't live here either.”  
With a dry swallow and a desperate _plea_ that all of the weight to his words can be conveyed through a single expression, he brings himself to look Jim in the eyes. “It's just me.”

Jim should have been over the moon at the news. He should have been walking on sunshine and floating on air and feeling like all those cliché sayings.  
Instead he feels hollow. Empty almost. He can't feel happy, can't be excited. Not when his fantasy is the result of sorrow.

He stares into those hazel eyes and for a brief second sees himself in them. Someone fighting their past and trying to find hope in the present.  
He knows all too well what a broken family can do to a man.  
With a shaky breath he tries to draw together a response because Bones is never just him. He'll never be _just_ anything to Jim.

“Bones I-” the moment is lost when Jim's immune system decides it's time to give up, and he finds himself in a fit of sneezes.  
All at once, the fatigue and coldness creep back into the forefront of his thoughts and he's helpless to stop a shiver convulse it's way up his back.

Leonard would have to be totally inept not to see that something unsettled lay behind Jim’s eyes, but the exhaustion on his face is glaring right at him and the spasmic sneezes don't tell a very different story. He wants to pry, to delve into the man’s mind and get to the bottom of it, but Jim had been through enough that evening. And Leonard has the distinct feeling he may get another opportunity to ask. For now though; rest.

“Will you _please_ let me get you some damn clothes now?”

Jim nods mutely. He's too tired for words, too tired to stand up anymore and damn, his heels were starting to pinch.  
He tries to reach forward to grab Leonard's arm, to balance off him until he can sit down, but his power of depth perception is lost in this state and he finds himself clutching onto Bones’ shoulder, leaning his weight against the man's chest.

Leonard can't bring himself to find the sudden slump anything other than endearing, and so takes Jim’s weight without complaint. It requires a bit of an awkward reach-around and nothing too graceful of a hobble, but Leonard gets the front door open, himself and Jim inside and indeed the door closed and locked again in an impressive feat of less than a few minutes. 

Steering the other man to the couch to deposit him on the edge of it, Leonard makes short work of acquiring a towel and an extra pair of pyjamas from his bedroom to return to Jim with. The guy is longer in the legs than he is, but Leonard is broader overall so there shouldn't be major issues with the fit. After a quick pitstop to the kitchen area to put the kettle on with a hot water bottle in mind, he leaves Jim be to get dressed while also finding a change for himself.

Jim fumbles with the skirt and heels but eventually he's managed to discard them along with the fishnet tights.  
He slips into the cotton flannel pyjama bottoms with ease, they're slightly loose on him but extremely comfortable.

He moves to take his crop top off but finds any attempt to strain his ribs upwards to remove the clothing results in a flash of pain across his torso.  
After several clumsy attempts he slumps backwards into the soft plush of the couch in defeat, resigning himself to live out he rest of his days in a hideous crop top and fishnet sleeves.

Returning at the click of the kettle and donning shorts and a loose T-shirt, Leonard pauses in his tracks to catch a glimpse of the midriff-exposed spread eagle-ing on his couch and snorts quietly to himself, a fond smile touching his lips as he sets about filling aforementioned hot water bottle.  
Wrapping it in a tea towel as he goes, the brunet pads back into the living room and perches himself on the edge of the coffee table, placing the bundle gently on his impromptu guest's stomach. He can't help but ghost his fingers over the newly forming marks at the base of Jim’s ribs as he retrieves his hands to himself, having not noticed them before given they weren’t particularly exposed standing upright. That same concern from earlier creases his brow.

“Fuck whoever did that to you,” is all he can grumble as he reaches over Jim for the blanket off the back of the sofa, knowing the ranting he wanted to do would likely fall on deaf ears.

Jim blearily opens his eyes as warmth engulfs him.  
He catches the look of annoyance on Bones’ face, and he's too tired to wonder if it’s directed at him or not.

“Bones,” he starts softly, needing to say something after everything that had just happened.  
He'd seen more of the man in front of him tonight out in that hallway than the past five weeks put together.  
He couldn't end the night with drunkenly passing out, no matter how much his sober self tomorrow might have wished he did.  
Bones deserved some kind of reaction.

“What you said outside, your daughter-” he struggles to get the words out as sleep creeps into the edges of his vision, his eyes drooping at every blink.

“Does this mean I get to call you _Daddy_ , Bones?”

Pressing his eyes shut and letting out a sigh so heavy his entire frame deflates, Leonard doesn't unfold the blanket as he lets it tumble heavily onto the mess of a man before him.

“You've never called me by my name to begin with, so I take it there's nothing I could do to stop you anyway,” he adds as he gets to his feet, signalling his next course of action being to head to bed. “Get some sleep, Jim.”

“Night night, Daddy” Jim chuckles, laughing at his own joke before immediately drifting off to sleep. The morning sure would be an interesting one.


	4. No Game is Ever Fun with Only One Player

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied alcoholism, implied past toxic relationships in this chapter

Despite the venture from the night before dragging well into the early hours of the morning, Leonard's body clock betrays him and he wakes up at 8:30AM like he always does. Peeking his head tiredly out into the living room, he chuckles softly to find Jim still snoring away soundly. He takes a moment to consider, running a hand up his cheek. He could do with a shave.  
Humming briefly, he decides just a quick shower will have to do - he isn't entirely sure what kind of state the man on his couch will be in once he wakes up, and so would rather be ready to rise to the task. Ducking into his bathroom, he steps under a hot spray of water for a few minutes and just lets his mind wander. The first priority on his mind all night had been Jim, Jim’s safety and calming Jim down. 

It didn't occur to him to think about how he, _Leonard_ , felt about the situation. Although he spared quite a few details and didn't paint too gorey a picture of his past love affairs, he had still opened up about them - to a drunk audience no less - and it feels weird. Sighing to himself in defeat, he rinses the soap from his body and shuts the water off, stepping out into the cooler bathroom air. He could worry about his oversharing later.

Towelled off and favouring a pair of joggers to pull on, the now more alert man decides against a shirt. His hair would only drip all over it anyway. With the towel draped around his neck and a beeline made to the kitchen, Leonard takes to the fridge to see what he can possibly scrape together. Eggs, milk… berries… there's flour in the cupboard… fried eggs and pancakes it is. That's about greasy enough to shift a hangover, even if only a little. And so, with two mugs ready to receive coffee on the counter and all the various ingredients laid out, Leonard gets to work.

Jim wakes to the unusual smell of cooking. Most of his one night stands left well before breakfast could be plated.  
He attempts a disgruntled groan but it cuts off half way, transforming into a cough burning his throat. He reaches blindly for his phone, one arm covering his face and is confused when his hand doesn’t bump again his bedside table. Reasoning he’s just too far from it he turns to roll closer, but instead finds himself tumbling off whatever he had fallen asleep on.

He blearily opens his eyes to the blinding light of morning and, as his sight begins to actually focus on the room, he realises he is not in his bedroom. He’s not even in his apartment.  
He stares around what he assumes is a living room, going off the couch he was evidently lying on and the television in front of him.  
Flashes of memory hits him from the night before. He’d been at the Sasha models’ afterparty. He’d left late, maybe around 2? He’s gone for the bus, right? That means he should be home…

The bus stop, no buses were running, the man that punched him, the rain, the way he lay vulnerable on the pavement.  
He called someone, who did he… a doctor… 

Oh _no_.

Jim manages to sit up, only then realising his ribs are most definitely bruised and he’s wearing a crop top that is not his. What happened to his black lace floral top? He had a feeling he’d never know.  
Oh god, what state did he call Bones in?! What did he even say to the man?

Jim can’t believe he called him, that he’s here. Bones was probably furious at him and wait, Bones’ apartment...“ _It’s just me_ ”  
He totally word vomited his whole insecurity about Bones having a family… **at Bones**. Oh lord. He rubs a hand down his face in despair, remembering too late he got punched last night and now his face is stinging. _Great_

The dull thud from the living room catches Leonard's attention and he frowns slightly. Listening out, there's no further commotion and so he isn't too worried, instead finishing his small bout of baking and making the coffee. Focused on not dropping anything as he carries the plates and mugs out to the living room, it takes a few seconds to actually register that the couch is empty and the blond is slumped on the floor.

“... Good morning,” he snirks, putting the flatware down to offer a hand out to the floor-dwelling Jim. The guy looks a right mess.

Jim lightly glares up the man. How could he be so jolly?  
He takes the outstretched hand and is surprised at the man’s strength, when he’s easily pulled to his feet.  
He stares at him then, an apology on the tip of his tongue, unsure of what to say or do next.  
How can one even begin to convey how sorry he is for basically everything that happened last night without sounding like a complete mess?  
He settles for a low “Thanks” at the helping hand and delicious smelling breakfast sitting on the coffee table in front of them.

With a solemn nod, Leonard makes a gesture towards the food and gets himself comfortable, on one side of the couch. The bruises snaking up Jim’s body have taken a more purple hue and are glaring out at the photographer, his chest tightening at the sight of them. He hums in disdain and reaches for his cup of coffee.

“So, you wanna tell me what happened last night or am I gonna have to pry it outta ya?” he ushers bluntly, sitting back with an arm comfortably strewn across his stomach and a determined eyebrow raised.

Jim's in the middle of sitting down with his own plate when Leonard throws the question at him. He flinches slightly at the coarseness of it, embarrassment coursing through him as he tries to compose an answer.

“I-” his voice comes across hoarse so he quickly takes a sip of coffee before trying again.  
“Uh, I was at a models after party, hence the, uh…” he searches for an appropriate word as he gestures at his fishnet covered arms. “ _Getup_. But yeah, I tried to get the bus home, realising too late that well the buses don't run all night-”

A monstrous beard and eyebrows haunt his thoughts for a moment, but Jim's not sure how to talk about that part. Not even sure exactly what happened.  
He struggles for what to say next and settles on;  
“I should have just got a taxi to my place...I guess I wasn't thinking straight at that point.” 

“Some party,” Leonard mumbles more to himself than anything else. A fall or a stumble might have explained _some_ of the painful looking discolourations scattered over Jim’s form, but he can't quite convince himself that all of them are accidental. Too much focus, all in individual places - blunt force trauma by the looks of it. His days of being a First Responder taught him that much.

“It didn't sound like it over the phone,” the brunet adds, a subtle tease to his voice as he sips at his coffee. “But you're alive, you must've done something right.”

Jim chuckles at that, appreciating the man's humour.

“About last night-” he starts, his hand reaching back to rub nervously at his neck. “I'm really sorry about calling you, I think somewhere my drunk self just saw _doctor_ and dialed.”

Jim plays with his food with the fork in his hand, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

What Leonard _wants_ to say is that he’s more than thrilled that it had been him who got to swoop in to the rescue, but that might be laying it on a bit thick for first thing in the morning. Instead, he vouches for halfheartedly scolding him and bumping Jim’s knee lightly with his own.

“Yeah, yeah… just don't make a habit out of 2AM pick-me-ups, some of us aren't twenty… whatever twenty you're on, anymore. Alright?” There's no threat to his voice, simply a weary look in his eye.

“How do you know I’m in my twenties?” Jim teases, the tension draining from his frame.  
When Bones levels him with a raised eyebrow and unimpressed face, Jim can’t help but snigger.

“23,” He admits, stabbing his fork into one of the pancakes.  
His mouth waters as he raises the delicious smelling piece to his mouth, unable to contain a moan as the maple drizzled joy touches his taste buds. 

“Oh my god, Bones - this is delicious,” he exclaims, another mouthful already halfway to his mouth.

There's an honest but mostly internal breath of relief at Jim’s admission, a concentrated moment of _what the fuck_ that the brunet is glad was unwarranted. That train of thought is interrupted by the implicit noise the other man makes, and he can't quite contain a proud smirk.

“Good to know I'm in the presence of a gracious guest,” he chuckles softly, watching the fork pass the model’s lips over and over like a man starved. There's a faint skip in his heart rate as he catches a glimpse of a trickle of syrup stubbornly gooping at the edge of Jim’s mouth, his rational brain telling him to just leave it but another of those mindless split-second ideas that seem to be a mainstay of being around Jim tells him that it'd be more than delightful to reach over and take care of it. Before a pale shade of red can rise to dust his cheeks, he stares promptly down into his lap.

 _Bad Bones, bad_.

“Most gracious” Jim comments, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand to clear the syrup away before digging into his eggs.

“I mean the food, the comfort...” Kirk pauses to rake his eyes over the man’s bare chest. “The view.”

He smugly swallows a gulp of coffee.

“Urgh- black? Really, Bones?!” he splutters, the bitter taste running down his throat and ruining his moment.

“I should have known,” he mutters sadly, stabbing at the last of his egg, hoping it’ll rid his mouth of the coffee taste.

The words _should have known_ seem to ring out in his head, reminding him of his little panic and revelation last night. Does he bring it up?  
For all Bones knows, Jim’s memory stops abruptly at the bus stop.

“Hey, for all I knew you coulda murdered me for puttin’ sugar in there! Gimme a break,” Leonard feigns a scowl in Jim’s direction, though the look of disdain on the blond’s face is something he won't soon forget. He's glad for the distraction before Jim’s first comment actually processes in his mind, watching Jim clear his plate and contenting himself with the sense of achievement of getting the man through the night. Downing the last of his own coffee, he makes the motions of piling it on the now empty plate in front of Jim and readying to take both into the kitchen out of the way.

Jim easily grabs the plates out of the man’s unsuspecting hands.  
“Ah-ah, Bones. You cooked, I clean,” he adds with a wink for good measure and heads in the direction he hopes is the kitchen.

Luckily he’s right and he places the dishes on the counter as he fills up the sink.  
Only now does he realise he’s wearing pyjama pants and not his leather skirt. His face flushes at the lack of memory, did he change himself or…?

Blinking in shock for a moment or two, Leonard hums briefly and accepts his fate. _Gracious through and through, it seems_. While he awaits Jim’s return, he gathers the slept in blanket from the floor and folds it over the back of the couch, restoring a little bit of order to the room. He checks his phone for lack of anything else to keep his hands busy. The screen reads 9:00AM and he breathes a sigh, irrevocably glad he doesn't have work until the evening that day.

After leaving the clean plates and cutlery on the wrack to dry, Jim stumbles back to the living room.

“Uh Bones- last night did I… uh, well was I able to...y’know,” Jim gestures vaguely at the pyjamas he’s wearing.  
He does his best to keep a flush from creeping its way up his face. It was a purely innocent question, he’s just trying to piece the night together.

Leonard frowns initially, looking Jim up and down in confusion before understanding dawns on his features.

“Oh. _Oh_ , yeah no I left the room. You- you handled yourself- uh… poor choice of words,” he stutters out, stopping to take a breath and recollect his thoughts. “I dumped the PJs here, you managed,” he pauses before gesturing to the skimpy crop top still hugging the blond’s figure. “Well, most of the way.”

Jim looks down at his top once again, this time the flush definitely rises to at least his neck as he realises what word is strewn across it. 

“Ah, okay, yeah cool,” he tries his best to sound flippant.  
“Could I- use your bathroom? And maybe borrow some clothes?” he grins sheepishly. “I’d rather not travel home like this.”

At a time of such dire need, why did the rosy faced look have to come off so damn cute? Getting to his feet much faster than necessary and nodding frantically, Leonard assures several “Of course”s under his breath and marches to his bedroom, more specifically his closet.  
Flicking through the sea of greys and blues that makes up his entire repertoire, the brunet cringes at himself a little. The younger man and his bold fashion statements would not at all approve of the repetitive pattern of shirt, jeans, shirt, jeans, shirt, jeans… but it's all he can offer.  
Settling on one of his few varying hoodies and more snug bottoms, Leonard deposits them in the small en suite and double checks that there's a fresh towel. With a side step and an inviting sweep of his hand, he purses his lips and leaves Jim to it.

Nodding his thanks, Bones is almost out the door when Jim remembers his earlier words.

He really shouldn’t say it, really shouldn’t do it...but then again, he is James T Kirk.

Of course he’ll do it.

With a grin gracing his face he calls out “Thanks Bones, I’m sure I can handle myself from here.” 

He sadly enters the bathroom before he can see Leonard’s reaction but he’s sure it's very entertaining.

Caught mid-step, Leonard's head snaps in the direction of the bathroom door, his shocked expression boring into the back of Jim’s skull for but a nanosecond before the wood pane replaces it.  
‘ _What the fuck kind of defilement is that man going to do to my shower???_ ’  
Shaking the thought - the entire prospect of the young man in anything less than three head to toe layers of church-appropriate clothing - from his head, the brunet nearly launches himself skull first out of the bedroom. There has to be other things to do, things that exercise the other parts of his brain. Ahh, photos. He has editing to occupy himself with. 

Jim catches himself in the bathroom mirror and instantly wants to bang his head against the wall. He looks awful. Oh god, how did Bones sit with him during breakfast without gagging?!  
Jim regrets his choice of phrasing with that particular thought almost right away, but he erases it from his mind as he catalogues the mess that he is.

His mascara and eyeliner had run halfway down his face and is smudged across his cheeks, much like his lipstick is smudged across his chin like a nasty rash.  
Not to mention the dried and crusted blood around his nose, jaw and cheek...  
His hair is a different but similar story. It is somehow both matted against his head at the sides and yet sticking completely upwards on top.  
His crop top is stuck to him and, despite tight clothes usually looking quite appealing on him, this one does not meet the usual criteria. 

He shakes his head at his reflection. Only he could end up like this.

He moves to take the crop top off and finds his ribs aren’t too pleased with the motion. Gritting his teeth he somehow manages to pull it over his head, with only a passing feeling that he might pass out.  
Next he peels off his fishnets, noticing with a sigh the indents they leave behind.  
God, he feels like a teenager again. 

He’s quick to strip himself of the rest of his clothes and jumps into the shower. He hopes Bones won’t mind him borrowing his shampoo and… _coconut scented body wash_? Could this man be any more attractive?

Ejecting the SD card from his camera, which had been placed lovingly atop the cabinet on the other side of the living room to charge, Leonard grabs his laptop from where it had been plugged in and sets about his work. After a few minutes of file conversion and a just about levelness reaching his head, whose familiar lean, naked torso graces the screen but that of _Captain Sexy_ himself! Slumping into the couch in hopes of it opening up and swallowing him, Leonard gargles on a drawn out groan.

Once the initial shock of everybody's favourite Adonis sprawled over his screen had worn off, Leonard takes to editing that series of pictures as well as those of the other models. Once in work mode, there's little that can deter him from seeing a task to its end, all hunched into the laptop screen and barely blinking as he smooths lines too harsh here or deepens a shadow there.

Jim finds exceptional pleasure in massaging his hands through his hair, rubbing away the dried hairspray and gel. He sighs happily as the warm water washes away the blood, dirt and sweat that had coated his body like a second skin.  
By the time Jim’s done washing, he’s a new man. He walks through the steam of the bathroom and wipes at the mirror. Definitely an improvement. 

He dries off quickly and wraps the towel around his hips. He borrows Bones’ comb off the counter and brushes out the knots in his hair. He then gives it a quick dry with the towel, leaving it a bushy mess on his head. No point in messing with it till it’s dried more. He simply runs his fingers through it to keep it off his face.

He slips into the borrowed sweats, deciding he’s better off going commando then slipping on damp boxers. He goes to grab Bones’ top, his hand groping the soft fabric of the baby blue hoodie.  
He looks into the mirror, surprisingly delighted with how Bones’ pants look on him. He is sure the hoodie would be just as cute, but... well, Jim had a punchline he wanted to hammer home.

With a grin on his face and the towel around his neck Jim exits the ensuite smirking.  
He makes it to the sitting room door, leaning against the frame. Bones is occupied on the couch with his computer, no doubt with photography work.  
Adorable is the first word that creeps into Kirk’s mind as he watches Leonard’s _focused face_ , his nose slightly scrunched up and his eyebrows slightly creased.  
He clears his throat to get the man’s attention.

“Hey look Bones, we’re matching.”

Jim’s call out to him only gets a vaguely interested grunt at first, that is until the brunet tempts a glance his way.  
By the time Leonard’s head is turned the full way to face the model leaning in his doorway, his hazel eyes are blown wide and his hands freeze in place. The slow journey his gaze makes down Jim’s body is less a checking out, and more _openly gawking at him_.  
The joggers hanging low on the man’s hips already sends pinpricks of electricity across his skin, but the additional fact of them being Leonard’s own makes his stomach _lurch_. Wetting his lips and averting his gaze, Leonard lightly coughs out of embarrassment and attempts to formulate words of some description.

“You look, uhm…” he croaks out, cursing himself inwardly before trying again. “You look a lot better.” The phrase is incomplete in his own mind, as he wants to adorn the blond’s fresh skin with utterances of just how _good_ he looks bare and natural like that, meld his lips to every dip and curve he can get his hands on in appraisal, but he couldn't let Jim know that. No, that'd go straight to the model’s ego and he's sure of it.

Jim’s smirk breaks into an all out grin at Bones’ _oh so subtle_ reaction. Jim is a bit surprised and completely delighted to get such a rise out of the older man, whose tongue may as well have been hanging out when he was checking Jim out. 

“Better, huh? That’s good, I guess,” he replies, his voice as smooth as his movements as he saunters over to the couch, flopping down beside Bones, his torso half twisted as he rests an elbow on the back of couch so he can easily face the photographer.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” 

After the embarrassment of the night before, Jim can feel his walls building up around him. If he can just stay cocky and confident, he can get through this.

With a weary glare into his lap, Leonard tries to scoot the PC higher up on his thighs as subtly as the ever increasing proximity with the model allows, as a precaution given how devilish Jim could get at the drop of a hat. What was he working on again…?

“Just… some stuff from the last few weeks,” the photographer mumbles, idly mousing over the several tabs he has open in Photoshop, and clicking the occasional one as he turns the screen to face Jim a little better. Flashes of colour from the shape of lingerie clinging to ethereal women or shirts hanging open off of androgynous godlike beings streak across the screen, showing a consistency of style in how Leonard turns the saturation of all but the clothes and makeup of his subjects down ever so slightly. 

He can't quite focus as the heat of the other man looms so closely nearby though, able to feel his fingers toying with the cushion of the couch ever so slightly behind him. It takes every ounce of strength in him not to lean even the slightest bit over, to let his shoulder brush Jim’s bicep and revel in the excitement of it all. But he's determined to- well, he's not quite sure what he's trying to achieve or _why_ he's so worked up about it, but it's a known fact that he's incredibly pigheaded when be wants to be and he's just _oh-so comfortable_ in his little bubble of familiarity, totally ignoring the faint bead of sweat gliding down his temple.

“ _Some stuff_ looks an awful like the shoot we did together, Bones” Jim comments, reveling in how flustered Bones looks at the moment.

After Jim’s disastrous night and mortifying morning, he felt it was Leonard’s turn to squirm. Not that he wasn’t extremely grateful for everything the man had done for him in the last 24 hours. In fact, what Bones’ had done was more than most people had done for Jim in the last 23 years, but that didn’t mean Jim wasn’t going to enjoy this moment of power.  
Anyways, he doubted Leonard was complaining about having a model flirt with him.

“Wasn’t that model the diva that was seconds away from chucking her phone at my head?” Jim points to an edited photo of a pale woman with ebony hair dressed in startling red lingerie, his finger resting lightly on the screen. 

“Were you editing my photos while I was in your shower?” He teases, dropping the pointed hand to rest on the edge of the laptop. The laptop that was conveniently resting on Leonard’s lap.

“If you wanted to see my abs again, you could have just asked,” he all but purrs, leaning in a few inches closer, his breath warm against Leonard’s ear. 

The tips of Leonard’s ears all but sear, overwhelmed by how dangerously close Jim’s palm lays and the knowing tone in his voice. He feels like a damn child being caught red handed looking at porn, for crying out loud. When really all he was doing was, huh, his actual job. And yet… he can't help but grapple at the feeling, digging his nails into the meat of his hands and chewing at his bottom lip. There's a seemingly endless moment where Leonard is frozen, stuck staring between the torso of Jim and the mischievous hand under the same ownership. On a high of adrenaline, he lifts his chin and meets Jim’s deep blue eyes, attempting not to melt under the intensity of them as he swallows thickly. With his pulse heavy in every appendage he has, he musters up the resolve to hum.

“I might’ve… but,” a sudden devious twitch upwards claims his lips as the words leave them. “You never really put them away.”

Bones’ words hit Jim like a sucker punch to the gut. For a second or two, he’s in both complete shock and disbelief.  
He’s overwhelmed with the fact that Bones just made a joke. An actual flirty joke. Well that was certainly new.  
Now it’s Jim’s turn to become hyper aware of his proximity to the man, of his sweaty palms and uneven breathing. The hand resting on the laptop curls into a tight fist, every ounce of his strength needed to keep his resolve. 

Jim is not used to other people having this affect over him, the vulnerability of it all felt...intoxicating.  
Staring into Bones’ hazel eyes, Jim Kirk ups his game of cockiness.  
No way is he losing this standoff.  
He stretches out his bent elbow so that his arm now rests along the back of Bones’ couch, framing the older man’s head.  
He subtly sucks in his breath and lifts the hand previously on the laptop upwards, a fake yawn erupting from his mouth. The movement is carefully orchestrated to display the full beauty of Jim’s torso and shoulders. 

“True, not that you’re complaining-” he flutters his eyelashes slightly as the flirtation rolls off his tongue, he finishes his little charade by moving the hand not on the back of the couch to grip Bone’s nearest bicep. “Are you?”

With trained accuracy, Leonard tracks each of Jim’s movements steadily and can't quite help himself but half lid his eyes, indulging the ripple and pull of the muscles on show for him with something of a gutteral noise tickling the back of his throat. He sees the blond’s game, and he's more than delighted to play.

As the hand lands on his bicep, Leonard doesn't hold back from flexing it, just enough to impress. Matching the bravado, he brings the hand on the same side to his chin, rubbing the light stubble there idly and, instead of putting it back in its original place, settles on Jim’s further over knee, thumbing over it in long deliberate strokes.

“Why would I ever wanna do that, darlin’?” he drawls with flirtatious incredulity, dragging the final word out and letting it taper like thick honey off a spoon.

The word _darlin’_ drops a large portion of blood straight to Kirk’s groin. He can actually feel his breath hitch and spine tremble. Not to mention the audacity of the hand currently on his knee!

 _Oh_ it was time for Jim to _finish_ this.  
He lets out a deep chuckle, probably the lowest sound he’d ever made around Bones.

“Beats me,” he hums in his most seductive voice.  
He leans his face in closer, now barely two inches from touching noses with Leonard, he can feel the shaky breaths from the other man on his lips.  
He removes his hand from Bones’ bicep and instead uses it to guide the hand on his knee to his abs. 

“I work pretty hard to maintain them, be a shame to hide them away,” he whispers, too close now to be any louder than that.  
His eyes flick to Bones’ Adam’s Apple that bobs violently as Leonard harshly swallows, when his eyes flick back up to capture Bones’, gaze he notices the other man is now looking at Jim’s lips, licking his own in anticipation.

This close Jim can see the perspiration dripping down leonard’s temple, the lust in his eyes. He can smell the man’s cologne mixing with the smell of his coconut body wash. The only sound Jim is aware of now is the thudding of his heart in his ears and Bones’ unsteady breathing.  
To finish off his performance Kirk strokes the side of Leonard’s face gently, his thumb trailing across the width of his cheek, savouring the feeling. Then, suddenly, Jim pulls away, reaching behind him for the forgotten hoodie from earlier.

“Getting a bit of a chill,” he smirks, throwing the hoodie over his head and pulling it down around him.

Instinctively, Leonard’s head follows after the touch, his eyebrows knitting together as it dissipates all too soon for his liking. The realisation that Jim is now fully clothed makes his heart plummet, his hands retracted to himself now with nothing to grasp at.

Did he do something wrong? Was… was there something he missed?

Seeing the satisfied look on the blond’s face only confuses him further. Did he think Leonard was just another conquest or somebody he could wrap around his little finger and call it a day? 

With narrowed eyes and a swell in his chest, the brunet swivelled. _No game is fun with only one player_.

Catching Jim’s wrists before the hoodie is entirely past his chin, he moves to pin the man against the backrest of the couch, kneeling between his thighs so as to effectively make the model straddle his hips. He pauses, giving ample time and enough slack to his hold for the blonde to complain if he really wants to, before boring into him with a stern “Let me fix that.”

Jim’s whole system shuts down.

He feels the heaviness of Bones’ grip on his arms and the intensity of his stare.

Kirk is not used to this, not used to this at all.  
He always gets the last word, he always walks away.  
This just didn’t happen, for someone to push back this hard.  
For a moment, he doesn’t have a clue what the fuck he’s going to do.

He is sitting here, a gorgeous topless man literally kneeling between his thighs, saying in the sexiest accent in the world _let me fix that_. Jim had never been so grateful to be wearing sweats in all his life, their bunched up loose fabric concealing the semi-hard on he’s now sporting.

There was just so much of Bones, wearing his clothes, his scent practically surronding him, the man pinning him down. His focus completely on Kirk.  
Jim had never felt so small and yet so important in his entire life.  
He’s left genuinely speechless. 

_Pride _isn't quite the right word to describe the feeling the awestruck look the young man below him is giving fills McCoy's chest with, but he'll take it - he has other business to attend to.__

__Craning his neck, he looms mere millimeters from Jim’s lips, feeling his breath on his cheeks and marvelling in how rattled it is. Despite the frustrated keen it earns him, McCoy sidetracks and greets the blond’s jaw with a barrage of featherlight kisses, making a show of lingering after every one.  
He ventures lower, shifting to hold both of Jim’s wrists in the one hand while the other drags the collar of the hoodie lower, delving into the crook of the model’s neck. Rather than warm him up with pecks and niceties, Leonard ghosts his teeth over the newly exposed flesh, turning Jim’s head out of the way with a firm hold on his chin then scraping with his incisors lightly, awaiting the man’s reaction eagerly._ _

__Jim’s breath catches in his throat as Bones moves in, peppering him with kisses. He probably would have passed out with how light headed he’s already feeling, had all the air not been knocked out of him by the scraping of Leonard’s teeth against his sensitive neck, eliciting a moan from the model._ _

__The manhandling of his wrists and head just add to the intensity of leonard’s actions and Jim is seconds away from a proper erection, he feels like a fucking teenager.  
On top of all the sensation he’s feeling, it doesn’t help that the only two articles of clothing he is wearing are oversized and the lower the sweats fall as Leonard’s teasing continues the more conscious he is that _there is nothing underneath_. _ _

__The aroused strain in Jim’s voice is like music to Leonard’s ears, making him smirk into the muscled skin below. Drawing back, Leonard wastes no time in gliding both hands down the model’s sides, catching his thumbs in the bottom hem of the hoodie and stuffing it upwards, careful to avoid the more battered side of Jim’s ribs._ _

__With the clothing item tangled around the blond’s wrists and them indeed out of the way above his head, McCoy sinks once more to give one of Jim’s sculpted collarbones some due attention, hands braced against the cushion at either side of the younger man’s hips. He mouths and sucks at this previously unexplored flesh, inching to a new area of skin before any impression of a mark can threaten to surface.  
Now curving one of his arms around Jim’s waist, he pulls his back into an arch and lets his softened lips drag over the blond’s nearest nipple. His eyes flick upward, glossed over with desire, to affix fiercely with Jim’s as his tongue seeps out to lathe over the hardened bud._ _

__Jim does nothing to suppress the onslaught of noises Bones evokes from him, from moaning to whining he continuously reacts to the overwhelming sensations.  
Leonard’s experienced tongue lays waste to Jim’s sensitive nerves and as his tongue comes into contact with Jim’s nipple, he can’t help but buck upwards, suddenly desperate for friction._ _

__With a mischievous glint in his eye, Leonard coos a teasing “An’ here I thought you mighta gotten shy on me.”_ _

__Hooking his free arm under Jim’s knee, he hikes the man’s leg high up on his waist and diverts his trail of kisses to the model’s sternum. Cupping the small of Jim’s back, he does nothing to alleviate the blond’s need to writhe, instead placing gentle nips all along the taut skin on the centreline of that magnificently carved stomach._ _

__With a masterful glide, he cups the back of the model’s thigh as it rests closer in against his armpit, bridging the gap over to Jim’s hip and covering it with wet kisses and openly praising at it with his teeth. He can tell it isn't quite enough, that the throaty noises the man below him is making are asking- _begging_ him to quit lollygagging and do something about the tenting that the joggers are doing little to hide at this point.  
And so, with the conviction of a thousand soldiers, Leonard makes a big show of sinking to his knees on the floor, hovering his face bare millimeters from Jim’s crotch and… sitting back on his heels, pulling away. His hands, his head, everything._ _

__With an attentive hum, he drags the towel still somehow around his neck up over his head to rub at his hair, not satisfied until the dampness of it disappears into the towel’s fibres and his fringe flicks up ever so slightly at the front, the rest not being wet enough or long enough to do anything _too crazy_._ _

__“Forgot. I had an e-mail to write,” he lies, reaching for his phone on the far armrest of the couch in as nonchalant a way as possible, completely ignoring the scandalised look he's sure is being daggered into the side of his head._ _

Jim’s head snaps to follow Leonard’s movement over the couch, feeling like he’d just been slapped across the face. His jaw drops open unceremoniously, his face an open book reading, _what the fuck just happened_.  
Jim’s chest compresses in disappointment, a tight feeling of longing coiling in his lungs as he struggles out a ragged breath. He gives the room a moment to stop spinning, for his desperation to quell, before he’s rocketing forward to sit on the edge of the couch, glaring down at the older man who’s still on the floor, because now Jim is angry.  
Jim might be one for teasing, if this morning is anything to judge, but he always has a promise entwined with his gentle caresses, his feather light touches and seductive whispers.  
He knows where the line is, knows how to to toe it, and how to cross it, and on the rare occasions he does the latter, he respects it .  
Whereas Leonard McCoy just carelessly bulldozed the entire sand dune, leading everything up to a grand finale that he’s now, abruptly, pulling the plug on.  
No, Jim’s not angry. He’s pissed.  
If Leonard wants to mess with him like this, fine. But he isn’t going to hang around like some cheap entertainment.  
“I should go,” Jim announces, voice cool and calculated as he rises from the couch, eyes already scanning the room for his stuff. 

__An eyebrow quirking, Leonard lowers his phone to assess where the icy tone is coming from. As Jim proceeds to bundle his clothes together, a frown creases Leonard’s features. The man is making an awful big show of not making eye contact- hell, avoiding looking the photographer’s direction entirely._ _

__“Right now?” he huffs, following up with something of a sarcastic chuckle. “What, are you mad at me now?”_ _

__Rising to his feet, he pads towards Kirk in the same flippant humour, reaching out to touch his shoulder but getting a rather nasty surprise as suddenly Jim is facing him, a glare darkening his eyes as he fiercely slaps Leonard’s hand away. _What the hell?_ _ _

__“Hey-” McCoy yips, taking a defensive step back as his features draw in genuine bafflement. “What was that for?”_ _

__Jim just rolls his eyes at the man. ‘Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer’ he thinks, before biting back with a bitter “Nothing, clearly.”_ _

__He narrows his eyes at the end of the sentence, spinning on his heels, he marches towards the bathroom to fetch the clothes he’d left bundled up on the ground. His mind is already a spinning whirlwind of bus times and taxi calculations, before he remembers that he has no idea where Leonard’s apartment even is, which side of town he’s currently on._ _

__Jim gives himself a moment to let out a low groan of irritation before he reassures himself that modern technology can get him out of this, he just has to brave Bones’ living room long enough to grab his phone and make for the door._ _

__However, upon returning to the room, Jim is met with Leonard still standing in the middle of the floor, and the sight of the older man watching him clutch his ruined clothing is embarrassing enough to flare up Jim’s temper._ _

__“What?” He sneers, eyes paying more attention to the floor in search of his phone than the face of the man in front of him._ _

__“ _What?_ ” Leonard echoes, raising his hands from his sides for a moment only to drop them heavily in a halfhearted shrug, an incredulous expression on his face as he tries to decipher what in the fresh hell kind of puzzle cube has just been chucked at him. “You’re stompin’ around like a heifer in heat at a lil’ taste a’ your own medicine n’ I’m just not gonna think somethin’s up? I’m many things, kid, but a mind-reader isn’t one of ‘em.”_ _

__Jim might have laughed at the southern metaphor had he been in any other mood, his blood now boiling at the condescending tone the other man had so easily thrown at him._ _

__“My own medicine-” Jim starts, a terse inhale of air cutting his sentence off.  
He barrels past Leonard in disgust, shouldering the man as he bends past him to retrieve his phone. As if Jim’s actions has been anything like the older man’s._ _

__“Funny Leonard, last time I checked the dictionary, flirting and groping had two very different meanings.”_ _

__Jim makes a point to use the man’s real name, the nickname seeming too light hearted for the tension coating the air of the room. His heart skips a beat at the realisation his phone is completely smashed, but recovers when it easily unlocks for him. His hand quickly scans through this menu for the Uber app, not caring at this point how much it’ll cost him._ _

McCoy’s mouth goes dry at the emphasis the blond gives the word. _Groping_. Pursing his lips, Leonard doesn’t fight off the tension that gathers in his shoulders and stuffs his hands into his pockets stiffly. He sucks at the inside of his cheek, feeling his eye sockets weigh into his face as his gaze snaps downwards, watching Jim’s feet as they scuff impatiently at the carpeted floor. 

__Correlation and causation are words that the brunet knows well - a smoker may also be prone to alcoholism, but smoking does not inherently cause alcoholism. Much like how flirting and an emotional connection often lead to sex, but not always._ _

__“Look, ’m sorry,” he announces eventually, slumping in exasperation and raising his line of vision to address Jim directly. “I thought I gave ya enough room t’ get out if you didn’t wanna- fuck, that doesn’t matter. I pushed a boundary n’ I can see that now. I’m sorry.”_ _

__Gritting his teeth, Leonard takes a deep breath despite himself. “But for god’s sake, man. Can we not sit and have a conversation instead a’ you stormin’ out?”_ _

__Jim stills at Bones’ apology, the words sliding off the older man's tongue as though they cost him nothing, when Jim knew all too well how pricey admitting you did something wrong can be._ _

__The hand not gripping his phone relaxes and uncurls itself from the tight fist it had become. Only seconds before it had been shaking, itching to throw a punch, to fight or flee from this apartment. Jim hadn't been aware there'd be another option._ _

But now he finds himself confused. He'd been upset that Leonard had teased him, played with his emotions, that he'd _stopped_ with no warning, no explanation but a coy look. But here Leonard is apologising because he thought Jim hadn't liked it, that Leonard had forced himself on him, and no matter how angry Jim had been seconds before, that thought left an acidic taste in his throat. 

__“Bones-” he starts, the softness of his voice surprising him. “You didn’t-”_ _

__Jim tries to put into words the turmoil of his own thoughts, because on one hand he had been fine with what they'd done and he had felt safe, felt he was just as much in control of the situation as Leonard was. But had Jim been comfortable? Had he wanted things to go further? To escalate? He was angry how Leonard had stopped their activity, but maybe a small part of him was also glad they hadn't jumped ahead. But how does he even begin to convey any of that when his contradicting thoughts seemed to both fuel Leonard's insecurities and also contrast them._ _

__He runs a hand waringly through his hair, gripping at the still damp locks as he tries again.  
“You didn't force anything Bones, I- I was more upset with the pulling away part.” For some reason the admission leaves a heated pink tinge across Jim's cheek, embarrassed by the miscommunication of the whole situation._ _

__Leonard's stomach churns._ _

__“The… pulling away part?” he beckons, cautious as anything as he frees his hands. The more Jim says, the less seems to make sense. To say the blond’s reaction earlier was a bit… on the extreme side would be a fair statement, naturally leading one to assume something serious would have to be the catalyst, like stepping too far for example. But… Leonard _not_ going all of the way is what warranted it?_ _

__“You’ve lost me now, kid,” the photographer sighs defeatedly, shoulders notably slumped and a pensive expression aging his face._ _

__Jim inwardly groans, he really did not want to get into this, no matter how hurt the other man looks at the moment. He just felt too raw about the whole situation and now things just felt escalated. He’d expected Leonard to just let him storm out, not start up a confrontation._ _

__Jim runs a hand over his head, trying to figure out how he was going to talk himself out of this one, when suddenly his phone buzzed, alerting him that his Uber had arrived._ _

__A wave of relief washes over him, tarnished vaguely by guilt, as he ignores Leonard’s comment and instead announces “My ride’s here.” half heartedly flashing his phone at the photographer._ _

__What now bubbles in Leonard’s chest is agitation, the pressure points at his temples and the crown of his skull pulsing as his jaw clenches. Giving a dismissive scoff, no longer in the mood for this, he turns to make his way into the kitchen, shaking his head all the while._ _

__“Just…” he grumbles, hands braced at the edge of the countertop and staring hard at the upturned tumbler glasses drip-drying on the dishrack, trying to ignore the near painful tension in his shoulders and the suffocating tightness in his chest. “Let me know when you’re home safe, will ya?”_ _

__Jim watches Leonard trail into the kitchen, the coil in his chest tightening once more before he loosens it with a deep sigh and a shake of his head. He turns for the front door, his hand tightens on the door handle, a white knuckle grip away from freedom, freedom that for some reason doesn’t taste quite as sweet as it did yesterday._ _

__His eyes flutter close briefly in an attempt to focus on the raging conflictions in his head. Opening the door does little to fix the problem and Jim finds himself muttering “Sure, Bones” right as he slips out of the apartement, not even sure if the man heard him._ _

McCoy swallows hard, eyebrows knitting together as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. The creak of the door swinging open and the hinges creaking as it’s drawn back into the frame is a familiar sound, and yet it seems to leer at Leonard over his shoulder, malicious and crass in its snarls and groans. Hands trembling, the brunet barely paces himself as he grabs one of the glasses, thumping it the right way up on the linoleum counter before rifling through all of the over-head cabinets. _Something to take the edge off_. 

__The click of the door sounds hollow in Jim’s ears, and he wonders as he heads for the elevator, if maybe he just messed up something special._ _


	5. All That is Gold May Not Glitter

A little over 4 weeks had passed since the incident in the apartment and Leonard had grown weary of anything to do with James T Kirk. Per request, the model checked in once he got home and entertained a brief onslaught of concerned messages asking if he had watered and fed himself, either not noticing the small invasion of misspellings in them or having his manners about him not to comment. But as the days went on, any interaction grew sparse, eventually to the point of one word answers or a plain emoji being a mainstay of the blond’s texts. One particular morning towards the end of the second week, as he had begun to type out some well wishes for Jim’s day, Leonard took a generous moment to stare hard into the screen.

He had gulped himself silly and collapsed against the cabinet doors, passing out for much longer than an unaffected rested night's sleep, a few too many times than he'd be happy to admit over the whole ordeal.  
What was the point?

Furrowing his brow, he mouthed the words ' _Not worth it_ ' and proceeded to clear the small wall of text. He closed his phone, going about his day and numerous to follow with it pocketed.

He found some new projects to work on, having been reached out to by a neighbouring magazine to do a feature for them, and the rest was history. In the ache for human contact that the absence of Jim’s late night talks left in his chest, he had befriended a journalist with a blunt fringe and an even more curt demeanor during his time at the other publisher’s. The man was… _odd_ , to put it nicely, but uncannily hard to offend and even harder to get rid of.  
So, McCoy took what he could get.

Standing off to the side as various celebrities and other honourable guests start to pour into the high ceilinged venue, Leonard - donning a three piece navy suit over a baby blue dress shirt and a tidied up version of the beard he’d recently been taking to - prises his camera to his chest and wipes at the lens with the end of his slightly off centred tie. To his left - always his damned left - the lanky streak of misery he had acquainted himself with is bouncing up and down on his heels, rattling a microphone against his palm rapidly despite the deadpan look on his face.

“Do ya really needa do that right now, Spock?” Leonard grumbles at him, peering through the viewfinder to check that everything is up to standard.

“Yes,” aforementioned noiret replies immediately, flat toned and staring off into the far side of the room. “It is highly necessary to expend my excess energy in advance of my vox pops interviews. I explained this five minutes ago. And five minutes before that. And-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” the photographer sighs, lowering his camera once more and scanning the various faces that fill the huge ballroom, weaving around tables once they’ve given the hungry paparazzi their fill in the red carpet area by the entrance. He never was one for trying to clamber into the camera pit and fight for _maybe_ one good shot, instead favouring the natural charm that only an unposed, candid subject could give at these kinds of events. And so, at the request of his friend as he catches an apparently well known editor’s attention to _ask a few questions about your upcoming blah blah blah_ , Leonard waits a few feet away from Spock for the crowds to die down. Evidently, that would be quite a while.

Camera flashes blind Jim every few steps, the paparazzi are a roaring crowd of _look over here… **no here**_. Even outside on the red carpet, the air feels stifled and yet, Jim would be lying if he said he hated any of it.  
He grins devilishly at every camera, every catcall, every wave for his attention. His arm is wrapped tightly around the beautiful model, Nyota Uhura, one of the most well-known models in the industry and one of Jim’s closest friends. She’s the confident embodiment of beauty and Jim had been honoured when she asked him to be her plus one.  
Tonight, she’s wearing a stunning tight red dress that covers her shoulders but dips into a V-neck, ending just above her belly button. The dress then continues all the way down to the floor and trails ever so slightly behind her.  
She’d admitted earlier in the night of her fear of tripping over the extra fabric, so Jim is keeping a hand on her at all times to prevent any kind of stumble or fall.  
His own golden sparkling blazer compliments her red nicely, with a plain white shirt half unbuttoned underneath it, and plain black slacks on, Jim has to admit he feels a bit like a celebrity. 

They saunter their way down the red carpet, pausing every few steps for the photographers to get their fill of the pair. A shiver of excitement runs through Jim when he thinks of how many magazines they may feature in tomorrow.  
As they reach the end of the carpet, Uhura turns to him with a slight upturn of her lips.

“I thought you said you’d never done this before,” she teases, referring to the red carpet.

“I haven’t,” Jim replies, pausing to smile at another flash of light as they enter the ballroom.

She scoffs at him. “Damn natural.”

He laughs brightly at her, a sliver of pride igniting in his chest as they go deeper into the ballroom, looking for their reserved seats for the awards ceremony. 

The repetitive drone of Spock’s list of questions, set perfectly and rarely varying for want of consistency, eventually drills a gaping hole into the side of Leonard's head. The guy looks to be in his element, making transfers of data at lightning speed with whoever had fallen victim to his onslaught next. With the image of a USB key wearing a Beatles wig and a rolled neck sweater in his head, the photographer makes an amused noise to himself before surveying the room for one of those tables with the elaborate towers of warm but very free champagne he has had his eye on since he first arrived.

Ducking in to give Spock’s lower back a firm pat, McCoy hangs his camera around his neck by the strap and stuffs his hands into his pants pockets, shuffling off into the crowd before the noiret could question him too indepthly. Flute of champagne in hand, Leonard takes a greedy sip of it and hums delectably at the taste. They definitely didn't skip out on expense for catering, that's for sure.  
In fact, the faint ever present sparkle at every other turn around the room just screams _expensive_ \- ladies dripping in jewels and crystals while the light catches in the cufflinks or blazer buttons of their male counterparts. It’s a photo-jockey’s playground.

Placing his now empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter, Leonard brings his camera up to his eye and focuses, playing with the settings and letting the shutter click sporadically. It's as he squints down into the preview screen that appetisers begin to be served to the guests - the show would be starting soon.

Before they can even get to the centre of the room, where Nyota has informed him their table is, the two of them are stopped numerous times by both fans and friends of Nyota and some surprisingly mention they had seen some of Jim’s work.  
He finds himself feeling giddy at the recognition but also flustered, not quite used to receiving acknowledgement from such well known industry professionals.

An agent for some famous model, that Kirk surprisingly hadn’t heard of, compliments his “sculpted” body that she’d apparently seen in a particular shoot just a week or two ago for some Calvin Klein advertisement.  
An ache builds in Jim’s chest as he realises she’s on about his shoot with Bones, despite the mixed feelings and fear he’d had surrounding the man recently, he finds himself adding to the conversation.

“Well to be honest, I had a wonderful photographer.”

The agent seems intrigued by the revelation and might have interrogated Jim further had her pager not gone off, sending the woman rushing away with a brief wave of her hand.  
Nyota’s arm sneaks around his bicep as the agent disappears and she leans in closer to him as their group dissipates. 

“I need to sit down,” she whines. “These heels are starting to kill me.”

Jim smirks down at her as she leans more of her weight against him and almost misses the glint of a camera just a few feet in front of them.

As Leonard is flicking through his taken pictures, trying to discern whether the slight glare off a nearby glass adds something unique to one particular shot or if he should scrap it completely, his heart stops. Staring up at him from the very corner of the frame, barely there but one he could recognise from a mile away, is the charming smile of Jim Kirk.  
Leonard stands transfixed, feeling the colour run out of his face as he tries every possible tactic to deny the fact that somewhere, barely a few strides away, is the very man he had spent weeks trying to numb himself to the thought of.

The guy is talented and unnervingly handsome, sure. But how could he have possibly ended up on the guest list when McCoy himself only got in as press by the skin of his teeth? Among international movie stars and millionaire designers and London, Paris, Milan catwalk models, the very people Leonard had intended to facelessly lose himself amongst and just _forget_ for an evening.

His throat closes up as he slowly brings himself to look into the stretching corales of beautiful bodies that make up the dining area. And, lo and behold, there the blond is. Cozied up to possibly the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on, just to add insult to injury.

Clenching his jaw, he doesn't linger for a single second, stalking away in the direction of the bathrooms because he needs a goddamn minute to _breathe_.

Jim and Uhura eventually settle into their seats. Jim watches in awe as the crowd of famous faces, some he’d been admiring most of his life, flood in, all taking their places.  
A light yelp from behind him and suddenly a waiter that had been walking by with a tray of champagne flutes stumbles. Of course with Jim’s luck he finds himself in the splash zone.  
Luckily only a small splat lands on his shirt and the stain isn’t too obvious, at least not in the now dimly lit ballroom.

The stickiness is uncomfortable though and as some of the lights turn off completely and the droning voice of a no doubt boring introduction starts up, he excuses himself from the table to go wash up.  
He does his best to duck and weave his way to the bathroom, trying hard to not obstruct too many people’s view. 

Skulking into a more secluded corner of the men’s room with his pulse in his ears, Leonard sheds his jacket in one fluid movement and claims a sink, letting the tap run for a few moments until it's icy. Sleeves rolled up haphazardly and his camera shielded by the jacket on top of it off to the one side, he cups at the stream of water and promptly forces his face into his palms, hissing at the drastic temperature difference against his skin.  
He repeats the practice a good two or three times until he can hear his actual thoughts rather than the deafening erratic boom of his heart rate. Hands braced on the edge of the countertop, he leans into them heavily and lets out a sharp huff of breath. He brings himself to meet his own eyes in the mirror, features drawn and tense as droplets of water slowly roll off of them. Shaking his head ever so slightly, he grimaces at the betrayal of his own body against him.

“ _You can do this_ ”, he assures himself, over and over until marginally he starts to believe it. “There’s thousands a’ people here tonight, chances are you won’t actually end up _talking_ to the bastard.” With a final deep breath, he reaches for one of the untouched hand towels folded neatly to the side, thankful that his clothes didn't get much splashback as he presses the soft cloth against his face, staying burrowed into it to really get his bearings.

Jim barrels into the bathroom, desperate to clean up before Nyota’s nomination, he’s pretty sure her category is third but he didn’t want to leave anything to chance.  
If she did win he’d need to be there to escort her safely up and down the stairs to the stage.  
He doesn’t even notice the other man standing there until his shirt is unbuttoned and he’s halfway through mopping up his chest and shirt.

It’s only as he goes to dampen a hand towel laying on the edge of the sink that he locks eyes in the mirror with a pair of all too familiar hazel irises.

His heart stops for a moment. _There’s no way he’s here_.

His mouth is a gaping uncooperative wreck while his whole body is now frozen rigid, as if he just woke up from a traumatising nightmare.

“Leonard,” he can’t hide his incredulous tone and it’s only after he says it he realises he used the man’s real name, he’d said _Leonard_ , not Bones.

Staring back at Jim’s startled reflection, taken aback by the way he addresses him… Leonard does little to hide the flood of emotion behind his eyes, in spite of his solid frame holding its ground. He straightens up and levels his expression. There's hurt, confusion, but unabashedly there's anger, lurking just beneath the surface.  
_Predominantly_ anger.  
Tight lipped and letting the towel sop against the marble counter harshly, he doesn't break eye contact- hardly _blinks_ as he rolls his sleeves back down with unsettlingly steady hands.

“So I exist now, huh?” he comments plainly, the acoustics of the room echoing the iciness of it without his voice being much above a whisper.

“Bones-” Jim starts softly.

The older man’s words pummell into his chest, leaving it aching. He can feel an actual lump building in his throat, constricting the airflow and threatening to block any form of communication Jim might try bring across. 

“I-”  
He doesn’t know how to continue.

How can he justify his recent ghosting tendencies to the man he’s literally been ghosting? Because Jim didn’t mean to do it. He really didn’t! It had just been so... easy.  
So easy to be afraid and unsure and so much safer to just not reply. It isn’t to say he didn’t want to, didn’t ache to. He still checked his phone no less than a hundred times a day to see had Bones texted him, just to realise it was Jim who hadn’t replied to Leonard’s last message.  
The longer it went on, the harder it became to answer him. It felt like it had all been slipping out of Jim’s control and that soon the problem would just cease to exist.

The issue with that plan, is that the problem is standing no less than a metre away from him and is definitely still existing, looking extremely pissed off.  
He knows he owes the man an explanation, something, Bones deserves that. But Kirk just lets his voice die out. 

A part of him feels like he doesn’t have the right to mutter some lame excuse, because all Bones had ever been was kind to Jim, sending him good wishes throughout the day and asking Jim how he was getting on, and that wasn’t easy. Jim knows how hard it is to reach out to someone like that, especially when that someone just ends up ignoring you.

Giving a set of slow, very deliberate blinks, Leonard displays just how willing to wait for an explanation he is, how perfectly _patient_ he can be. They'd opened this can of worms, and dancing around an issue was never really his style. When he can tell the willingness to actually talk isn't reciprocal however, he turns and scoffs.

“Or not. That's fine,” he laughs, the sound sharp and harsh as he’s smoothing out his shirt and picking his jacket back up. He shouldn’t have expected so much from somebody so young, yet to shoulder the burdens of life outside of a phone screen and casual sex and the Hollywood fantasy.

“Wouldn't wanna keep your date waitin’ on you anyway. What's her name?” As he shrugs into the sleeves of his jacket, he punctuates with a bitter smile. “She seems nice.”

Jim can’t believe what he’s hearing. _No_ , Bones has it all wrong.  
Oh god. He’d seen them, he’d seen them in the ballroom, no doubt looking all cosy and loving and _fuck_.  
Jim Kirk is a known coward when it comes to stuff like this, but for the first time in years, he feels a ripple of courage course through him, because Leonard’s anger isn’t dangerous; the man’s hurt.

Leonard’s probably been confused and upset over the last few weeks, and the first time he sees Jim is when the model is hanging off the arm of a beautiful woman.  
Even Jim’s not that emotionally constipated to know how awful that must have felt. He takes a deep breath, gathering himself together.

“Nyota-” he answers. “And yes, she is nice.” His voice cracks through the silent room like a whip, preventing Bones from stepping away from the sink and leaving as he had been about to.  
Jim holds the silence for a second, building the tension and holding the other man’s glare. He needs to drive the next point home, _hard_.  
“But she’s not my date.”  
He buttons up his shirt as he speaks, the stain almost dry now. A faint outline can still be seen where the fabric meets the dampness, but Jim doubts anyone will notice.

For a long moment, all Leonard can do is narrow his eyes at the man before him.  
Is that supposed to make him feel better? To stick a band aid over the last month and that be okay, because he _isn't_ with a date? He could laugh at less.

It's not rational to get petty or flog a dead horse, but thinking rationally isn't at the highest of priorities on his list at the moment. Sinking his hands into his pockets and gracing the floor with his gaze, scuffing an inconsistency in the tile pattern lightly with his foot, any semblance of mercy drops from his voice as he sighs.

“World’s worth of assurance to know you can be sure about where you stand with some people, kid.”

Jim should feel hurt by that, or upset, but instead a wave of acceptance just washes over him.

“Ain’t that the truth,” he mutters, bracing himself against the sink in front of him, his head bowing forward in an expression of frustration.  
When his head snaps back up again he’s calmer, resigned to what he needs to say.

“I’m sorry- and I know that’s not enough, but I am.” He fiddles with the towel still in his hands, drawing his attention to the movement instead of watching Leonard’s reaction. If he looks the man in the face, he might lose his nerve.

“I shouldn’t have- I mean, I didn’t mean to-” he huffs, at a loss with how to best express himself. How does he explain why he ghosted Leonard, when Bones is who Jim wants to text the most?

“You startled me,” he finally admits, his voice just above a whisper.

“That morning you- I mean, you didn’t- I wasn’t against-” he tries his best to convey that Bones didn’t actually do anything wrong that morning, he didn’t do anything against Jim’s will. Bones just- “You caught me by surprise.”  
Jim finally manages to look up, ignoring the mirror and actually turning his body enough to face Bones. “I’m not good with surprises.”

He fold his arms for lack of anything else to do, and after a moment of hesitation adds “-and… I’m not used to people toying with me.” Jim makes a somewhat constipated face, agitated with how difficult it is to express what he’s trying to say.

“Toying’s definitely not the right word- I just mean… usually, it’s all or nothing for me. I guess I didn’t know how to react to something that was…” He almost says _domestic_ , but catches himself. “In the middle.”

The very real vulnerability radiating off of Jim hits him in waves, making Leonard's features slowly unwind. He wishes it didn't have to have been dragged out like this, but... he's no saint himself. So he keeps his mouth shut.

With his hands freed and his posture loosening, the brunet takes a small step forward, ignoring the distant applause from whatever first category of prizes had been divvied out beyond the bathroom walls.

“I just… don't understand why you didn't say any a’ that sooner,” McCoy mutters, eyes still lowered in uncertainty. He wants, if nothing else in the world, to maintain an honest moment with the man across from him. But at the same time, he’s not ready to just throw his arms around him and call it a day. Leonard isn’t going to leave himself open to being taken for a fool and walked all over - however much he had trusted Jim before, he can tell already that it’s going to take twice as long to build that back up. The blond’s volunteering of an explanation, albeit staggered, does sweeten the deal a little though - it’s certainly an improvement.

“I guess...” Jim’s mind flashes to the past, to before he became a model, when he was young and desperate and so naive.  
All the people he’d teased, all the sexual tension he’d endured but never ventured with, all those eyes watching him, _wanting him_.  
So many one night stands and what-ifs, but no one to stay around long enough to explore anything more with than that. No one he’d grown accustomed to or actually connected with.

“I didn’t know how.”

The distinctive creep of his heart down into his guts had been a feeling coined exclusively to McCoy's interactions with Jim, it seems. Even having been apart from each other for as long as they had, it’s unique as a fingerprint and presses into him harshly. Careful to not spook him, Leonard reaches for the blond’s hand, brushing his fingertips in a tender but not overly lucrative fashion, his level of non-verbal understanding deepening in how, even at that, the guy’s first instinct is to flinch.

He had been too hasty in his assumption that Kirk hadn’t seen the true hardships of life. Not just in medicine, his whole youth he had been brought up on the phrase _pain is relative_. Everybody recognises pain differently, feels it differently, reacts to it differently. A broken arm might heal right up in a healthy body, but that same fall might be a matter of life or death for somebody with an autoimmune disease, or impairments from old age. The concept also applies to mental strain. He knows better than to pry, to try squeeze a tragic backstory out of the guy at a PR event, but he also knows better in his levelheaded state than to dismiss Jim’s words as flippant discomfort with commitment - he knows something lays deeper.

“If you're not ready, I'm not gonna pressure you,” Leonard beckons hesitantly, tracing the back of his knuckle up the bone of Jim’s wrist briefly before retracting his hands to himself entirely. Hoping on an impossible hope that the action paired with his words has the weight he truly wants them to, the photographer gulps around a persistent lump in his throat and opens his mouth to speak.

“But, if you want to learn… I've got time.”

Kirk can actually feel his heart swell, an aggressive feeling of pure relief rockets through him, an unexpected reaction to the second chance he’s just been handed.  
For a moment he feels like the world had just been eased off his shoulders, the guilt of the last few weeks lifted from him. Then the door opens and another man comes strolling in, oblivious to the emotions bouncing around the tiled room.

Before the door can close, Jim hears Nyota’s name being called out from a list of nominees.

“Shit.” 

His head flicks to the closing door, his body moving to catch it before it can swing shut. Jim almost races out the door, desperation momentarily blinding him as he remembers why he’s here.  
But he realises at the last second that he’d said nothing to the man behind him.  
He twists his neck to look back, Bones looking heartbreakingly dejected.

“That’s my cue,” he explains in a rush, his eyes wild as he hears the silent build up to the announcement of the winner, Nyota’s name being called a second later. “Let me get you a drink when the ceremonies over, a proper apology.”  
He doesn’t wait for a response, doesn’t have the time as he power walks out the door and towards his friend, reaching her just in time to grab her elbow and lead her through the maze of tables.

“Cutting it close there Kirk - what, did you fall into the toilet?” She hisses under her breath, her lips barely moving.

“Sorry,” he mumbles back, guiding her gently up the stairs and to the microphone.

‘ _Doesn't sound like I've much choice in the matter_ ,’ Leonard thinks to himself, watching the back of Jim’s head disappearing behind the wood pane of the door. Letting go of a breath he didn't quite realise he had been holding, the brunet smooths a hand over the coarse texture on his upper lip. Noting his phone suddenly buzzing in his pocket, he scoops his camera under his free arm and answers the call.

“Leonard, where are you?” Spock’s monotone cuts across any form of _hello, who's this?_ McCoy had thought about giving, making the man roll his eyes.

 

“I took a leak,” he announces loudly into the microphone, taking to walking out of the bathroom as he attempts to get his friend off his case. “A nice long one too.”

“... Have you considered speaking to a doctor? Fifteen minutes is hardly a healthy amount of time to spend urinating.”

Leonard puts any pensive thoughts about what’s to come later on in the back of his mind, favouring letting out a genuine snicker. Humour would forever go over that bowl-cutted weirdo’s head. Speaking of, Leonard hangs up and seeks out said peculiar haircut, grabbing himself a whiskey and a non-alcoholic cocktail from the bar on the way.

Settled beside Spock off to the side of the stage area and interrupting a barrage of questions being hurled at him by forcing the more colourful beverage into the journalist’s hands, McCoy stares up at the raised platform at the head of the room. As the decadent figure of the woman he now knows to be Nyota is giving an acceptance speech and commanding the room with her practised voice, he can see why Jim would be drawn to her - her stage presence is phenomenal.

Following a brief consideration and reflecting on his words in the bathroom, perhaps Leonard too has some learning to do.

And so, with steady hands and a clear head, he snaps a picture of the memory; Nyota from the bust upwards, her eyes crinkling and deep smile lines in her cheeks as she laughs mid sentence, accompanied by Jim slightly out of focus in the background with an occupied and proud look on his face. Like something out of a movie.


	6. When the Storm Has Passed

The crisp morning air creates a cool breeze on Jim’s face as he races down the winding lane of the park. His heart is thudding steadily in his chest, his breathing coming in harsh gasps as he nears the end of his run.  
He turns his head slightly, getting a brief glimpse of the red faced man behind him. Grinning, he calls out.  
“C’mon, old man! We’re almost done, I’m leaving you in the dust.”  
To emphasise his point Jim turns forward again, breaking into a sprint for the last 100 metres, creating an even bigger gap between him and Bones.  
In Jim’s defense, he had jogged at the same pace as the photographer for most of their run, but he was way too competitive to not sprint for the final furlong.  
He doubles over after passing his usual finish line, the small lilypad-dominated pond at the edge of the park near where he lived. His world seems to vibrate around him, his lungs struggling for air as his body threatens to collapse onto a nearby park bench in exhaustion.   
Yet, he feels incredible.

He lifts his head enough to watch as Leonard finally catches up, looking just as wrecked as Jim.  
“So, enjoy yourself?” he manages to tease between breaths.

Head thrown back as he slows to finally stop next to Jim, Leonard holds out a finger to signify the _hang on_ that his lips can't quite form, chest heaving with effort. Arms crossed behind his head to alleviate the faint stitch having formed in his ribs a full corner ago, the brunet gives a singular incredulous chuckle.

“Oh yeah,” he huffs, voice dripping in sarcasm despite the laboured note to it. “Time of my… Damn life.”

Dropping his arms heavily, he unhitches the water bottle from the fanny pack resting on his hip. As much as Jim had mocked him for it, he wasn't the one having to jog around with pockets full of jangly nonsense, and so stood by his decision. Greedily gulping at his water, he moans in content and soon has recovered his breathing.

“You're gonna be the death of me one of these days.”

Jim huffs out a laugh as he finishes gulping down his own water.  
“Drama queen,” he jabs, unlocking his phone to check the time. “I did warn you the model regime wasn’t an easy one.”

He slips his phone back into his pocket again, stretching briefly in an attempt to soothe the muscles he’s sure would be aching tomorrow morning. He had pushed himself another half a mile today, not that Bones needed to know that.

“Any plans for the weekend?” the model questions as the pair begin to walk towards the exit of the park, towards Jim’s apartment.

“Should prob’ly give Joanna a call tomorrow,” Leonard hums to himself in thought, letting his knuckles brush Jim’s every couple of strides as they walk shoulder to shoulder before he gives a brief shrug. “Otherwise? Nah.”

The brunet actually finds himself grateful for the promise of a few days of non-events and a little peace and quiet. The recent spike in things to think about - being; rounding off several projects and the collaborative magazine piece quite stressfully, and with… notably more fond thought, the steady process of finding a more comfortable place for Jim in his life again - had his brain fried.

The thought of napping the afternoon away sends warm sleepy feelings throughout his body, egged on by his tired legs, but they had only gotten out of bed a few hours ago and so there is a whole day that needs his more alert attention. As they enter into the elevator, Leonard folds his arms casually and fixes Jim a curious look.

“What about you?”

“Usual stuff,” Jim sighs, leaning back against the elevator walls as the door closes.

“Weekends are when I have my main workouts with my fitness instructor so that’s always… fun,” Jim drops his voice on the final word, expressing his true thoughts on the collective four hours of hell he endures each weekend.

“I’ve a meeting tomorrow evening with my agent as well, apparently some brand down south saw a photo of me and want me to model some western clothes for their brand as part of their ‘modern’ cowboy rebranding?” Jim huffs, pushing off the wall as the door opens and leading Bones down the hallway towards his apartment. “Whatever the hell that means.”

Leonard snorts, following the blond into the apartment with an even more intrigued expression.

“ _Spaghetti westerns_ , really? Sheesh, an’ here I thought bringing back those stretchy plastic necklaces from the 90s was a reach,” the brunet scoffs jokingly and situates himself leaning back against the kitchen counter, watching Jim potter about and adding a playful “Think they're more likely to try squeeze you into some Daisy Dukes, or all-out chaps and spurs?”

Jim groans at the man’s teasing as he pours them both some more water.

“I’m never letting you see the photos” He warns, handing Leonard his drink.

“And you’re one to talk, Mr permanent cowboy persona with that Georgian accen’ of yours,” Kirk mocks, ending the sentence with the best impersonation of Bones he can muster.  
His phone buzzes silently in his pocket and, after finishing his drink, he reaches to check the notification.

Pulling a highly indignant face, Leonard mutters about how he _does **not** sound like that_ into his cup of water, giving Jim a joking stink eye over the brim of it. As more concentration than your usual text message would usher casts over the blond’s face, Leonard quirks an eyebrow. Stepping closer to briefly glance at (but not read, as that would be some serious privacy violation) the screen over Jim’s shoulder, he beckons a soft “You alright?”

Is he- is he alright?  
Jim can’t even answer straight away as his eyes skim over the e-mail a second time, then a third because he couldn’t believe what he was reading. He really couldn’t.  
A shiver of pure adrenaline and excitement rushes through him, he can feel it pulsing under his skin and burning his chest and he can't do anything to contain the tremble in his voice when he practically yells,  
“Bones you genius! You goddamn photography prodigy!” Overcome with emotions Jim turns, realises briefly that their faces are inches from one another, promptly grabs the man’s face in both his hands and dives in for a brief - albeit passionate - kiss.

Before he can even properly register what he’s just done, he’s calling his agent. Already moving to the living room to pace around, his elation prevents him from standing still.  
“Sulu stop what you’re doing and open the email I just forwarded you-”

… What in the fresh hell had just happened?  
Leonard, arms still slightly extended from his body from the surprise of the impact, stares blankly at the opposite kitchen wall, trying to reconstruct over and over in his head how he ended up there. Finally ripped from his stupor by the exclamations of excitement in the living room, the brunet exhales sharply in realisation.

Had his first _actual kiss_ with James T Kirk just happened… without his active participation in it?

If he hadn't wanted to throttle the younger man before, he was certainly fit to then. Biting the inside of his cheek, he figures he might as well find out _why_ such a moment was ripped from him, and so follows into the living space. The ninety words per minute euphoria that is gushing from the model into his phone though quels some of the frustration, instead heightening his curiosity tenfold as he waits for him to finish.

“Alright yes- ya- okay cool!- Alright, talk tomorrow, bye-” Jim hangs up, his hand shaking, a shrill sigh emitting from him in happiness.

He turns, catching Leonard watching him with arms folded and an eyebrow raised in inquisition.  
Jim still hasn't caught up with himself, momentarily forgetting the kiss, he finds himself word vomiting to Bones at full speed.  
“Bones, the awards ceremony the other night, this agent, fuck I don't even know her name-” he begins his rant.  
“But she saw me! I mean, of course she did at the ceremony- but before that in an ad- your ad! Your photo I mean-” God he couldn't get the words out fast enough.  
“Apparently, she was some big shot agent and she mentioned the ad in passing to some major designer, who I'm almost too afraid to ask exactly who they are because fuck I'm excited enough as it is,” and suddenly Jim's cupping his cheeks in an attempt to cool them down and taking in a deep breath because _damn_ he feels he's going to pass out from elation.  
“Bones I'm going to New York for fashion week- as in actually going as a model, as a guest and it's all because of you-” he trails off, breathless, staring at Leonard likes he's the most wonderful thing he's ever seen.  
“And-” his voice picks up again. “They want you too! The designer ended up going through the entire catalogue of photos from the shoot, they want to get in contact, asked me to forward on any details I had!”

The swell of pride in Leonard’s chest at the initial news makes his pulse batter at his temples, his ribs, his ears, everywhere, his eyes alight with disbelief. Jim, _his_ Jim is going to be going from idolising the big names of his supermodels on the TV to literally walking among them. He’s about to just accept his little bit of credit where it's due when the blond starts to babble about how Leonard had played any significant part in all of this happening so that he can skip to the part where he congratulates him, when his blood suddenly runs cold.

“They- _what_?” he echoes, eyes blown wide. “You're joking. Jim, I swear to god if this is a joke, spit it out right now.”  
As he searches the blond’s face erratically and is only met with the same unfaltering beam, he stuffs his hands into his hair and balls them into fists. He's sure the incredulous look that passes over his face looks borderline insane when paired with the near hysterical laugh that forces its way out of his lungs, but he genuinely does not care.

“We… _we’re_ going to New York,” he croaks, shaking his head as the meaning of the words finally sinks in and it’s suddenly his turn to grab Jim by the shoulders and stare at him like he has just won the lottery and Jim is the million dollars and _more_.  
“You bastard. You gorgeous fuckin’ bastard,” he breathes, wrapping the blond up in a bone-crushing embrace.

Jim just matches the man’s hysterical laughter, wishing more than anything that time could just stop, freeze on this perfect moment so that Jim could stay this happy forever.  
Of course if that happens he’d never get to the actual event that has him this happy to begin with.

He digs his fingers tighter into Bones, trying to ground himself again. The familiar scent of the man’s cologne slowly bringing him back to Earth. The expanse of muscle beside him is an effective anchor to cling to as Jim can finally let out a proper sigh of relief. His dreams are finally coming true.  
After a few seconds he slowly pulls away from the embrace, his hands gently gliding across Leonard’s back before resting lightly on his shoulders. He smiles slightly up at the man, Jim always forgets their height difference is a thing until they are standing this close, the inch or two becomes more obvious.

Jim is about to open his mouth, about to start moving; to start composing the email of Leonard’s details for the agent; to call Nyota for more information, the woman having been on the guest list for years at this point, when - abruptly - the penny drops.

“Oh god,” he starts, unable to stop smiling despite the realisation. “I just kissed you in the kitchen... didn’t I?”

Cradling the younger man’s waist, still revelling in the intimacy despite the small gap now between their torsos, Leonard feigns a thoughtful expression.

“In the kitchen? Gee, that was _quite_ a while ago,” he tuts, glancing back over his shoulder at the space they had come from a few meters away for effect. “I just can't be sure.” Keeping the act up, he returns his gaze to Jim’s brilliant eyes and shrugs with false nonchalance.

“Care to jog my memory, darlin’?”

Someday, Jim is going to have to sit down with himself and solve the question of how one single word, _darlin’_ , can make him feel like a 16 year old girl being asked to her first prom by her crush.

“I thought you’d be done with jogging for today,” Jim taunts, just to get that split second reaction of disbelief from the photographer before he closes the gap between them, their lips pressing gently together as their torsos finally collide. 

One of Jim’s hands traces delicately over the fabric of Leonard’s t-shirt as it trails slowly down his back, while his other hand moves upwards, brushing through the man’s brown locks before gripping gently at the back of his head.

Jim had been wrong. He hadn’t wanted time to freeze before, he wants it to freeze now.

If McCoy has to be honest with himself, the cheeky remark only makes the flush of contact to follow all the more delectable. Giving over entirely, he lets his eyelids slide shut and snakes an arm fully around the blond’s waist. He hums softly as Jim’s fingertips leave trails of electricity on his skin in their wake, his heart in his mouth by the time they’re carding over his scalp. 

Bringing his free hand to cup Jim’s jaw, he gently guides the man’s head into more of a tilt and pours all the passion he can muster into their kiss, thumbing over the model’s cheek as if trying to sear the texture of the skin and all the dip and jut of bone beneath it to his brain like a brand. As they part for breath, Leonard presses his forehead to Jim’s and a little smile touches his lips, letting himself just stay there.

“Huh, that rings a bell,” he whispers, a note of smugness shining through.

Jim huffs out a laugh.

“I’ve been told I tend to leave an impression,” the hand in Leonard’s hair moves down to rub across the man’s neck and settles just under the collar of the man’s shirt as he speaks.  
Jim licks at his lips, the taste of Bones still fresh. This close, there’s nowhere except the other man’s eyes to look into as he completes the action.

Leonard catches the dart of the shorter man’s tongue and chews at the inside of his lip. The thought crosses his mind to draw Jim back in, to hike the thin fabric of his shirt up and go wild on his midriff, but he watches the glossy sheen meet Jim’s eyes already and instead decides to place his hand atop the one on his chest. Curling around it and raising it to face level, he gives Jim a warm look of admiration and presses sweet pecks all along the bumps of his thumb. Settling inward to adorn similarly delicate kisses to the broader part of his palm, his own thumb smooths circles over the ligaments of the man’s long fingers in the back of his hand.

Jim’s eyes follow Leonard’s tender movements, the kisses to his thumb awakening a warmth in Jim’s stomach that he hadn’t been aware was missing. The look in Leonard’s eyes is tender and sincere, sending Jim’s heart into a confused erratic beat.  
This certainly wasn’t the response he had been expecting from his explorative trailing.  
His eyebrows raise, bemused, as he gently teases “Didn’t know you were such a gentleman Bones.”

“ ‘Ve had years of practice,” the photographer coos cheekily with a wink, turning his head to litter Jim's wrist with the same affectionate treatment. For emphasis of how much of an old-fashioned romantic he can be, Leonard gives an exaggerated flutter of his eyelashes, trailing butterfly kisses across the tender skin of where palm ends and arm begins. He can tell the blond isn't used to it, but he can't deny the excitement of all of these things about himself he's getting to show off in such new territory.

Leonard's kisses leave a trail of tingling sensations across Jim's skin and he finds himself holding his breath as the brunette makes his way up his arm.  
The tenderness of the movement leaves his knees feeling weaker than a brutal make out session usually would.  
The contrast of soft lips with Bones’ stubble is too much and Jim finds himself caressing Leonard's face, trying to entice the older man to move back to his hungry lips.

With the way Jim is looking at him, Leonard skips the formalities of acquainting himself with the rest of the man’s arm and leans in, adjoining to his lips with ferver. His hands oblige Jim’s hips, tempting further beyond them but ultimately curling his fingers in the fabric of the pants between them and the skin beneath.

“We should… you've got those emails t’answer,” he breathes, nose to nose with Jim, trying not to get too far lost in him but not pushing away with much determination. His words don't entirely cooperate with him either, mind wandering with every movement Jim’s searching hands make. “Needa do showers and… clothes and that.”

This kiss is even better that the last one. Jim can feel both of them pouring a part of themselves into it, the sweetness of the kiss takes away any confusion that this is just lust.  
When Leonard pulls away Jim's embarrassed to admit he almost _whines_. What Bones says is logical, but Jim can’t help but want to argue.

Jim ignores him for a moment, lightly kissing him again. Grinning into the kiss, he then mutters  
“I wouldn't be opposed to a shower... if you're joining.”

Eyebrows drawing together as a stuttered groan leaves the brunet at the thought, he mutters a low “Quit puttin’ words in my mouth there, honey.”  
Tentative to be the first one to move, he splays his hands down the backs of Jim’s thighs, purposely dodging his ass by mere millimeters and closing much of the space left between their bodies in silent challenge. Leonard's eyes are shamelessly hooded and by now he's staring at the lips of the gorgeous man before him ravenously, taking his own bottom one between his teeth as he absolutely entertains the idea of making sweet lo- _L-word_ , to him against a cold tile wall.

Jim can't contain the small groan that leaves his lips at being called _honey_.  
The feeling of Leonard's hands on his thighs is almost too much and he pushes harder against the man's chest, incidentally, lining their hips up.  
His heartbeat is starting to quicken and Jim is sure he'd have ended up sandwiched between Leonard's gorgeous body and his shower wall had his phone not choose that particular moment to go off.  
With a deep groan he pulls away.

“I better answer that...”

Part of Leonard wants to grab the phone and chuck it right out the window, but huffily he reminds himself of the news they'd received a few minutes previous. They'd be mooching it up in _New York_ for crying out loud, that kind of organising doesn't just happen overnight. And as much as the pair of them would be among the highest end of the high end celebrities who hardly have to raise a finger for work to be done, they… weren’t exactly in that privileged position. Just yet anyway.

Accommodation and travel costs and food would all be things to worry about, and suddenly the hinting of a hard-on that had been building up down below dissipates. Would it all be covered? Would ANY of it be covered? He doesn't keep up with the online gossip and TV shows that likely made all of these factors public knowledge half as religiously as Jim - now across the room again - and so he doesn't fight the resigned hum that leaves him.  
Whoever is on the other end of the line will probably tell all, and so he savours the fact that they'll have time together after the commotion dies down. 

“No, yes I did get your email- of course no my agent will be right on that- yes uh huh- that should be fine- okay- no actually if you'd like I have him here…yes, no the same guy- okay hold on one sec,” Jim glances across the room at Bones.

“It's for you,” he says aloud, a smile stretching across his face.  
As he passes the phone to Bones, he mouths the word ‘ _designer_ ’. He then heads to the bathroom, eager to wipe the chilling sweat off himself, although disappointed that, this time, Leonard wouldn't be joining.

The look of surprise on Leonard's face is brief, but no less present as he presses Jim’s phone to his ear.

“Uhh… hello?” he starts, hating himself already for sounding unsure. He shouldn't be so out of his element - somebody influential had seen his work and thought _damn, let me get in on that_ and he’s allowed to have that. They had scouted Jim out, so they obviously had good sense.  
He can do this.

The conversation that ensues goes surprisingly well, nailing down the ins and outs of what kind of equipment McCoy would need for formalised photoshoots and outlining the type of themes and trends the current designers are sticking to, so that all aspects of production gel as seamlessly as possible. The voice on the other side is very to the point and high-speed, but the genuine excitement that builds up in his stomach allows him to keep up. Eventually, she asks for a finalisation of his details so that reservations can be made under his and Jim’s names.

“Oh, you needn't go to the hassle of all that,” he assures, stuck in the ways of his Southern hospitality upbringings, only to be surprised further.

“It is _standard_ for all of our guests to stay at the Ritz-Carlton hotel, Mr McCoy,” the woman reassures, sounding a little jarred at the prospect of this not being obvious. She goes on to conclude how somebody will be in touch with them soon and how she's needed elsewhere and consequently hangs up.  
With a curious frown, Leonard takes a moment to give their destination a quick Google since Jim’s phone is still unlocked. His jaw practically hits the floor as he stares down at the pictures of the luxurious hotel, looking more like a small utopia with all of its services and extras than a simple high rise building. He needs to sit down.

Leonard continues to gape in shock for a solid ten minutes, indeed unmoving and still scrolling through reviews and images as Jim returns from his shower.

Jim feels like a million dollars after his shower, that and the thought that _he's going to New York, **he's** going to **New York**_. He quickly dresses himself in some black jeans and a yellow t-shirt, anxious to get back into the room to see how the call went.  
He walks into the sitting room to see a very shook McCoy scrolling through his phone looking both shell shocked and excited. He assumes the man got some more details of their trip from the phone call and is excited to ask him what the big news is, but first-

“Find my dick pics on there? Pretty good huh?” he can't help but raise his eyebrows dramatically and flounce forward, like the drama queen he is.  
He settles beside the photographer on his couch, looking blatantly over the man’s shoulder.

Shooting Jim a brief scowl, the photographer scoffs a “The fact it wouldn’t take a lotta digging worries me” before turning the phone more towards its owner.

“Jim, they're _sending_ us here,” he says incredulously, looking between the blond and the screen expectantly, plastered with images of high ceilinged rooms and breathtaking views out onto New York city. “800 dollars a night at the cheapest, and it's just… being taken care of! What the actual shit, Jim?!” The fact that some people could look at this kind of accommodation and just shrug in the reviews, saying plainly that they're _nice_ or _alright_ makes him dizzy.

Jim lets out a low whistle as he skims through the photos of the hotel.

“Damn, this place is like something out of a rom com,” his eyes glance over the list of facilities and he almost swoons when he sees _swimming pool_ and _jacuzzi_. He also can't help but notice the _multiple bars_ the hotel seems to promote every few photos.

“Oh Bones, this is gonna be fucking unreal,” Jim grins at the older man.

“And I'd totally hug you again, if you weren't all sweaty and gross,” he teases patting Bones on the shoulder.

“All sweaty and what?” Leonard announces in fake obliviousness, making an exaggerated raise of his arms and leaning into Jim’s space. Putting most of his weight on him and making exclamations of just how comfortable he is, he concurs with a smirk. “A whole week in the lap of luxury… remind me never to take that model smoulder a’ yours for granted.”

“Ewwww, off off off!” Jim whines, shoving at the man to try push him off the couch. “-and, hey! You never should,” he pouts, fluttering his eyelashes as he finally shoves Bones off the couch.  
“Now go shower, smelly! I'll make food” he announces, jumping to his feet and heading into the kitchen.

Leonard grins after the man from the floor, watching the wiggle of his hips involved in the hop to his feet with indulgent delight before scooping himself up. Trekking to the bathroom, he calls out a playful “Don't burn anythin’, darlin’!” and then ducks behind the door to get himself showered and to Jim’s standard of clean.


	7. New Heights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Vomiting in this chapter

Jim’s fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel as he turns off of the highway towards the airport.

“I can’t believe we’re actually going, Bones. I mean, look!” he gestures to a plane overhead just after taking off, grinning widely. “That’ll be us in 2 hours, chilling in business class on our way to New York.”

Making another turn at a junction, he spots a sign announcing that they are even closer to their destination, ushering a shrill squeal of excitement out of him.

“I don’t even remember the last time I was on a plane! It’s so exciting! Although I’m terrified of security. Like, I don’t have anything to hide, but it’s always so intimidating.”

Jim squints his eyes at a far off sign they’re steadily approaching.  
“Hey, does that say airport-” 

Amidst Jim’s rambling, Leonard had taken to staring hard out the windshield and anxiously jostling his knee. In the excitement of learning they'd be going to New York, it never quite dawned on him that they'd be _flying_ there.

Until now, that is.

With his bottom lip drawn harshly between his teeth, he gnaws at it pensively, hands unable to keep still between fiddling with the radio and his belt buckle and practically anything else really he can reach. With Jim’s announcement of the airport incoming, Leonard can feel the contents of his stomach churn, eyebrows drawing tightly together.

“Great,” he responds sarcastically through gritted teeth. “That's just _great_.”

Their trek through the car park and into the airport doesn't veer much from the pattern of the car journey, with Jim’s fussing and chatting about much of the process falling on deaf ears and being responded to with short grunts and “Uh-huh”s. McCoy can practically feel his heart creeping up through his oesophagus and into his mouth with every touchdown or takeoff of the planes just beyond the floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the runways at seemingly every left hand turn. 

Jim flops down onto one of the metal chairs in the terminal after they’d finally gotten through security.

“Glad that’s all over, now all we gotta do is wait for our gate to be announced,” Jim declares, turning his attention to Leonard as the man sits down beside him. He answers with another grunt and for some reason this one has Jim furrowing his brows.

Bones had been eerily quiet since they’d gotten to the airport.  
Jim was used to Bones grunting at his full speed excited rambles, it was a common occurrence. But Jim is now just realising that grunting is all the man had been doing for nearly an hour.

He’d never let Jim away with this, there was always some smart comment or a sarcastic “Do you ever shut up?” at the tip of his tongue.  
Instead, Jim stares more intently at the man, and for the first time notices how tense he seems. It’s like Leonard’s not even aware Jim’s there, his eyes looking almost glossy as he watches the runway.

Had Jim upset the man? He’d been fine this morning, chatting and cracking out the usual supply of southern metaphors.  
Jim tries to think back to anything he might have said that could have annoyed the photographer.

Maybe he’d talked too much? Been too excited? Was Leonard suddenly regretting that the two of them would be sharing a room?

“Bones, you alright?” he asks cautiously, wary of how the man might respond. 

The brunet’s foot had been bouncing away at full ninety since they had sat down, his elbows on his knees as he hunched forward and his eyes flickered restlessly from one passing object or person to the next. ‘ _Stupid tin can contraptions_ ,’ he thinks tensely. ‘ _If God wanted us to fly, he would’ve given us wings, damn it!_ ’

Ready to give the model to his side another plain hum of acknowledgement, Leonard has to do a double take to realise he is being spoken to directly rather than at.

“Huh?” he straightens up, a scratch to his voice that he has to clear his throat to alleviate. “Uhh, yeah, ‘m fine. Not feelin’... Just a bit unwell is all.”

In an attempt to sooth Jim’s obvious concern, he forces a smile but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, or his sweaty palms for that matter. Rubbing them firmly against the fabric of his jeans, he curses at himself under his breath and frowns out at the line of people starting to form at their gate, a few minutes from opening.

Jim’s stomach drops at the reply.

Bones is avoiding telling him what’s wrong. He can see it in the man’s eyes and trembling leg that something's worrying him. Jim misses whatever Bones grumbles, but it can’t be anything positive going by his visibly uncomfortable body language.

It has to be the shared room. What else would Leonard be worried about?  
Is he stressed that he’d be trapped with Jim for a full week? They’d been fine the last few, though they had only gotten to see each other in person a handful of times due to their busy schedules. But they’d texted daily and nightly and Bones had seemed as eager as Jim for the trip to start.

“Oh, okay. Do you, uh- do you want to get something in the store before we queue up? Some aspirin or something?” he tries to keep his voice as cheerful as it had been just moments before, but he’s not quite sure he hits the mark. 

Leonard promptly shakes his head _no_ , chewing at his cheek without meeting Jim’s eyes. The man would surely think him an idiot for being afraid of air travel of all things. Leonard McCoy - who had spent much of his early twenties as a first responder and was well accustomed to open wounds, blood and all the other bodily fluids that came with festivals, concerts, martial arts events and so on - going pale as a ghost at the thought of flying… it’s pathetic and he knows it, and for all of the honesty the pair had begun to share over the past few weeks, he isn't ready to humiliate himself like that.

“C’mon,” he ushers, getting to his feet to pick up his bags and one out of Jim’s array of many, as the attendant calls out their gate number to signal it's time to board. Not thinking too heavily into his choice of words as he starts to walk away, he adds a “Let's get this over with.”

If Jim thought his stomach dropping before was painful, it was nothing compared to his heart now, which he’s pretty sure just shattered into a million little pieces.

 _Let's get this over with_.

Jim’s lucky the older man goes on ahead because he can do nothing to hide the devastated look on his face.  
Bones was dreading this whole thing, he’s regretting it all, he couldn’t wait to get himself as far from Jim as possible.  
Trailing after Leonard, the blond’s fingernails dig into his palm in a desperate attempt to calm himself. He’s probably just overthinking this, there has to be a more valid reason why Leonard is suddenly acting all cold and distant.

Jim’s basically on autopilot as they make their way onto the plane, and Bones still says nothing to him as they settle into their seats.

All the excitement of being up in the business class is gone. The roomy paired seats they have to themselves and the televisions do nothing to improve Jim’s mood as he stares broken heartedly out the window.

Suddenly going to New York means very little to Jim and the thought of the week ahead is almost enough to make him get up and walk away from it all.  
He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice the steward begin their safety demonstration. 

From the moment they’re seated, Leonard can't bring himself to focus on anything except the fact that they're effectively in a sardine can with wings and human error is suddenly left open to a terrifyingly wide margin. Said sardine can is quite lavishly furnished and overall ticking many aesthetic boxes, but it’s a sardine can no matter how much the airline companies try to dress it up.

He notices Jim’s choice of slumping into the window seat - something he mentally thanks the blond for - but little else. Even the lack of conversation from before goes completely over McCoy’s head as the captain starts to say something over the intercom, the safety demo is given and the plane is driven to its designated part of the runway. Despite the deep breaths he’s forcing himself to take, the photographer buckles his seatbelt and pulls it tight, probably tight enough to leave deep welts against his hips should it be left for a long period of time, but it's the most grounding thing he can grapple at in that moment.

By the time the pilot announces their clearance for takeoff, Leonard is already gripping the armrests of his chair. He spares a look Jim’s way, only able to see part of his profile as he stares out the window. Leonard will admit, he hadn't been the best conversational partner for much of the afternoon, and so what he assumes to be the model’s attempt to occupy himself with something else doesn't strike him too oddly. He’d have to make it up to him later, take him to a nice dinner or splash out on a bottle of wine maybe. With that and several minutes of trembling hands paired with barely masked laboured breathing, they have liftoff.

Jim has to admit his breath hitches slightly for the first few seconds of lift off. Always a bit of a scare, but he soon relaxes as the plane rises smoothly into the clouds.  
He can’t even bring himself to look at Bones and as the plane passes over the highway that Jim had been happily driving down not so long ago, he feels the tratorious prick of tears in his eyes.  
Four months of banter and text and what Jim had assumed was romance, down the drain.

Leonard had only acted cooler since getting on the plane, not even throwing a glance in Jim’s direction, he was definitely ignoring him. Bones had never acted this way before, no matter how much Jim pissed him off with his jokes and teasing. Now though, he was treating Jim like he wasn’t even there.  
The worst part is, Jim doen’t even know what he did wrong.  
He takes a calming few breathes and swallows hard at the lump in his throat.  
If he was going to make it through this week without a breakdown, he could at least be civil.

Before he makes a grab for the headphones connected to the television to watch a film and try ignore the man beside him, he politely informs him, with as much cheeriness that he can muster “I’m gonna watch a movie.”

The entire process of the plane’s ascent has Leonard’s head in a tizzy, his chest tight and every one of his limbs tingling. As a man open to many things, the idea of being out of control itself doesn't turn him all the way off, but in application in a situation where he's thousands of feet away from the earth’s surface and his very life is in somebody else’s hands whom he's never met? It's almost enough to make him understand a phobia of hospitals and surgery.

Once the plane is leveled out and they are at cruising altitude, vague relief washes over him, making him retract his nails from the leather of his seat but not without the numbness of his now ghastly white knuckles sinking in. He wrings his hands out of embarrassment, trying to get some blood flowing back into him when Jim’s statement catches his attention. Sending a glance the man’s way then to the catalogue stuck against the wall a short ways off in front of them listing the available movies, none of which particularly taking his fancy, he gives a short nod. “Enjoy,” he adds, maybe a bit more curtly than first intended, then leans his head out into the aisle a little to try catch a glimpse of whether a steward would be coming soon with beverages.

Jim’s hands curl into trembling fists, his lip almost quivering at the man’s throw away tone.

Suddenly everything feels too hot, too familiar.

God what an idiot Jim had been, to think Leonard would be any different to the guys before him. It was so clear now, Jim was just some pretty model to him, maybe even his ticket to New York for all Jim knew. Now that Leonard was living his dream, Jim’s usefulness was gone.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he announces, hoping the crack in his voice would be brushed off as him just needing to clear his throat. He doesn’t even wait for Leonard to move, just brushes across the man’s knees to get out. 

By the time he makes it to the cubicle door, there’s already a hot tear streaming down his face and he’s never been so thankful to shut himself into an airplane bathroom. In business class, it’s slightly bigger than expected, more luxurious. But it doesn’t matter, Jim cries in it the same way he has cried in countless other bathrooms.  
He tries to keep his sobs quiet as he clings to the basin, desperately trying to get his trembles under control. This is no place for a panic attack, someone would be knocking on the door soon enough. 

He’d done this to himself. He’d left himself this vulnerable, just to get hurt. He glares into his blue eyes in the mirror in disgust. His own reflection a quaking disgrace. He’d promised himself this wouldn’t happen again, he should have listened to his gut - none of his relationships before were built to last, he was a fool to think this one was different. That Leonard was different. Chest seizing up at the realisation, Jim heaved out a sob.

Kirk’s abrupt exit leaves Leonard blinking fast and slightly taken aback. Not moments before, he had plans to watch his movie, did it take that short of a time for his bladder to tell him it was full? Shaking his head dismissively of the thought, the photographer tries to get comfortable in his chair again, catching the attention of a passing air hostess as she pushes the cart down the aisle. He orders a double of whiskey, about to wince at the price when she assures him their tab is covered. 

Humming quietly to himself, he decides he'll tell Jim about this when he gets back from the bathroom. The guy probably thinks McCoy is being a right asshole, and he really can't blame him. Leonard has no right to be taking this out on his partner, there’s enough on the younger man’s plate. The distraction of the smooth liquid drifting down his throat and maybe sharing a few more of them with Jim over the coming couple of hours is actually sounding quite nice. Something that almost makes him forget they're hurtling through the skies at high speeds. He'll take it where he can get it.

However, a minute turns into two, then two turns into 5 and eventually it's been 15 minutes and Jim isn't back yet. Leonard frowns, staring into the shallow remnant of his glass and sloshing it lightly. Is he okay? Did something happen he didn't notice? As he is about to entertain the thought, the plane starts to shake and Leonard’s eyes blow wide.

A rumble echoes through the cabin, like some invisible behemoth of a beast prowling through - immense, loud, unstoppable. Before he has time to try and pull his thoughts together, a sharper bought of turbulence hits with a roar and his stomach decides to flip. 

Withholding a wretch, the moment the air hostess is past their row Leonard rips the seatbelt from his lap and bounds towards the bathroom, a hand clasped tightly over his mouth. Never does the thought occur to him that Jim is still in there, only that an acidic taste is clawing at the back of his throat and his belly is threatening to expel its contents on the spot. And so, with a balled fist, he hammers the thin door with the resolve of a madman.

‘ _The worst of it is over_ ,’ Jim reassures himself as he gets his breathing almost under control.  
It wasn’t his first panic attack and, going by previous ones, it hadn’t been the worst. But it had been his first large scale one in a while.

He faces his reflection for the first time in 10 minutes to see how bad the aftermath really is.  
His usual daily makeup of concealer and mascara had been ruined. Black smudges decorate under his eyes and the bags he’d gotten from the lack of sleep, due to his excitement, are now visible.  
His hair is sticking up in all directions after the attack it’d gotten from his hands, which had ended up buried deep in his locks during the height of his breathing problems. His entire face is also a disgusting shade of red, blotchy and glistening with sweat. He’s about to make a stab at fixing himself when turbulence hits.

He’s quick enough to grab onto something before he can slam into the wall and, just as his heart is calming down from the fright, his blood pressure spikes again at the sudden hammering at the door.  
Jim assumes it’s some angry airhostess who's been informed the bathroom has been occupied for 15 minutes and assuming it’s some mile high prank. As much as he’d love to clean up before exiting the bathroom, he decides a quick apology and some made up excuse may lead to him actually being allowed to clean up in peace.

Lord knows he is not going back to Leonard looking like this, he couldn’t stand to even think of the smug look the man would give him, seeing what he had done to Jim.

So Jim opens the door slowly, ready for an angry lecture.  
Instead, a blur of a desepare brunette flies past him towards the toilet bowl.  
Jim lets the door slide shut in shock as he turns to watch Leonard chuck up whatever he’d eaten that day. 

All rational thought leaves him as Leonard sinks unceremoniously to his knees at the steel cistern, head thrown forward practically inside the bowl as he wretches into it. His shoulders bunch sharply with every expel from his throat, eyes screwed shut and fingers grappling at whatever surface they can gain purchase on. Everything else around him fades off into the background, no regard for where he is or which poor unfortunate he had barged in on, only that whatever demonic entity was testing at his guts needed to be _gone_.

Finally only dry heaving, nothing left to leave him, Leonard collapses to the side, back colliding with the cubicle wall with a dull _thud_. He stares helpless down into his lap, panting raggedly while his eyes flutter in an attempt to keep from watering. Sniffling, he brings a sleeved hand to wipe at his now sticky cheek before he addresses the bathroom's previous occupant. Hell, he'd probably traumatised them, so what good would trying to make himself presentable _now_ do? Nonetheless, he shudders out one more breath and lifts his chin.

“ ‘M sorry, I don't do well on pl-” he starts but cuts himself off, features melding to a look of horror as he lays eyes on Jim. His Jim, puffy from the nose up, clothes and hair uncharacteristically tousled and posture visibly unsettled just out of his reach. It feels like a hot brand being forced against his heart, almost on par to the day he found Jim in a heap in the middle of the street covered in blood.  
He **hates** it.

“Wha… b-baby, what happened?“

Jim stares at the man blankly for a minute. A million thoughts going through his head before he lets out a sharp laugh.  
_Baby_. What kind of person did he take Jim for that he’d fall for that kind of condescending bullshit?

Maybe had Bones used that loving endearment a few hours ago he would have melted at it but, right now, he’s pissed.  
So now, only after throwing up in front of Jim, he was worth his attention?

“What kind of question is that?” He scoffs. “You’re the one that just threw up.” He makes a point of folding his arms and leaning back against the counter, his eyes focused on the door.

Stunned to the spot, Leonard watches the cold demeanor wash over the blond and knows that, had there been anything else in his belly, he might have had to go for another round. Swallowing with effort, he reaches across to pull the flush lever and struggles to his feet. The worst of the turbulence has subsided, and Leonard thanks his lucky stars for it because anything but finding out where the other man’s sour mood has come from is, frankly, wasted brain space.

“Jim, lookit me,” he beckons, confusion pulling at his features as he steps towards aforementioned model and attempts to rest a hand on his upper arm. “Your eyes… were you cryin’ in here?”

Jim stiffens under the scrutiny of the other man, he shivers at the anger pulsing under his skin and is seconds away from walking out, regardless of his appearance.

Jim’s quick to shrug the offered hand away when Bones makes a move towards him. As the man’s words sink in, he finds himself subconsciously rubbing at his eyes, disgusted that he’d let himself be seen like this.

“So?” he spits out. “What’s it to you?”

Craning his neck back and frowning in indignance, Leonard stares at the blond with searching eyes.

“Well I dunno what it says to you, but I’ve only dropped everything at a drunk phone call in the middle a’ the night to come find your ass after knowing you a couple weeks,” he shrugs honestly, shaking his head with a raised eyebrow. A distaste for how similar he sounds to a certain bowl-cut clad hobgoblin back home in his next few words irks him, but he continues. “Seems logical to me that I might want t’know why you're upset.”

Jim lets out a bitter laugh at that.  
_Oh this is just rich_.

“Yeah, my knight in shining armor,” Jim mocks. Did Leonard think he could keep his little game up? Now that Jim had seen the truth of all this? “Why don’t you go find yourself some other pretty little princess to rescue and bring along on your little adventure, you’ve made it pretty clear you’re done with this one-”

Jim’s voice cracks at the end of his sentence and at this point he’s only hurting himself. He makes for the door, hoping an air hostess will just give him a wipe and let him sit somewhere in economy.

The genuine hurt and disgust in Jim's words feels like a baseball bat to the ribs as they hook, line and sink.

“ _Princess?_ ” Leonard strains, hearing the effort in his voice but too otherwise occupied to care to challenge it as he fully retracts his hands to himself. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I wasn’t under the impression I had one? Not five minutes ago, or five weeks ago. Or four months ago, for that matter.”

“Oh yeah, was totally getting that vibe from you all day,” Jim sneers, his hand resting on the door handle. He’s been played with so many times, it shouldn’t be a surprise to Jim anymore. He’s always great and perfect and everything someone’s ever wanted, until they get what they were actually after. Money, publicity, sick validation from having him so tightly wrapped around their finger, all of these tailcoat riders wanted the same things. The only thing he doesn’t understand is the fact that ever since things got heated at the photographer’s apartment, the guy hadn’t so much as laid a finger on Jim. Okay, maybe a few fingers, but sex had always been an integral element in these bastards’ plans, and yet…

“Let’s not kid ourselves here Leonard. You played well, okay? Got what you wanted. Now just leave me the _fuck_ alone. We can sort out the room when we arrive, don’t need to stress about it.”

Before the realisation that he hadn’t been bedded in months and that he hadn’t so much as noticed because he hadn’t _minded_ can set in, Jim can’t help himself from bitterly adding a “We’ll just _get it over with_.”

Something snaps in the photographer’s mind because the echoing of his own words from before slams against his eardrums and causes his teeth to clench.

Jim - the same Jim that stormed out of Leonard’s apartment on some pretty spectacularly short notice, due to what the blonde had later glossed over one night in with booze and a movie as a _fight or flight dumb thing_ before dismissing the topic and staking out in the bathroom for twenty minutes - was pretty damn quick to jump at the conclusion that Leonard wanted nothing to do with him anymore. So ready to throw accusations about ulterior motives of some description over what had now been reveal to the photographer as a _misunderstanding_.

Leonard blinks heavily before putting the lid of the toilet down and sitting on it, leveling his mind in the process.

“You know… not every person you meet wants to hurt you, Kirk,” he breathes, concluding that the blond probably already has his mind made up and an emotive accommodating approach would be fruitless. “Maybe you don't wanna hear it, or can't believe it. S’fine. But it's the truth.”  
Sucking his tongue over his teeth, Leonard folds his hands in his lap tensely. The flat cynicism that the rest of the world gets is trying to poke its head up, being the automatic response to a sticky situation like this. It’s the safe place to go.  
But he doesn’t want _safe_ with Jim. He wants the different and the new, the tough bits as well as the easy bits because Jim isn’t just a client or a fairweather friend, and turning into one is something McCoy will fight to his dying breath to fight against if he has to.

“Aviophobia. I have aviophobia,” he admits, eyes squeezed shut as the quiet rumble of the plane’s engine gets a brief increase in volume, just to spite him. “I… never mentioned that. It’s why I was pissy all morning. And that’s no excuse, don’t get me wrong, I just… I don’t know, but I’m in the wrong here. I know that much.”

Leonard’s words feel jagged as they try to leave him, making his chest tight and his temples pulse. He’s fucking mortified - here he is spouting on about trusting people and waking up to smell the coffee, and yet something as negligibly deal breaking as an irrational fear had never come up in casual conversation, to cause Leonard to be so much of an ignoramus as to make one of the people he cares most about this hesitant to be around him. Not to mention how pathetic he must look. Why couldn’t it have been something more out there? Like deep sea creatures, or projectile vending machines?

 

Afraid of flying. Leonard Bones McCoy, afraid of fucking flying.

Jim turns around in shock. The quietness, the nervous looks, the spacing out, the weirdness… it all makes so much sense now. Jim feels like beating his head against the door of the bathroom in frustration.

“Look, I’ve been a right asshole…I don’t blame ya if you go, I’m sorry,” the brunet continues to ramble, oblivious to the apology’s recipient having wrapped his head around their mutual dysfunctionality already.

“You- you’ve got to be joking,” he finally breaths out. “Why would you not tell me? A five and a half hour flight- what were you thinking?” Jim crouches in front of Leonard, locking eyes with him then shaking his head at the man and at himself.

“Well now I just feel stupid-” he groans, ducking his head down and rubbing at the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“I- I thought you were upset about us sharing a room” Jim admits, slowly raising his head again and taking in the older man’s defeated, if not a little embarrassed, demeanor. “It didn’t even occur to me you’d be worried about flying and then- you just seemed so resigned, I just... I’m sorry I thought- thought maybe you were having regrets and then it was like you were giving me the cold shoulder...”

Jim pauses his ramble to take a deep breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to a conclusion so quickly.”

Leonard lets a nervous huff of a chuckle leave his lungs as he looks down that the other man. He’s just as mesmerised by his striking eyes as he was the day he first locked with them, even in the disheveled and stressed out state their owner is in. He brings a tentative hand to the side of Jim’s face, thumbing over his cheek before fixing some of his hair.

“You, uh… you thought too much an’ I didn't think at all, huh?” he offers with drawn eyebrows and soft eyes, feeling quite like a damn fool himself. “Think talking’s something we've gotta work on. If… if you want at this again, that is. It’s fine if y’want a bit a’ distance… uhm-”

He can't quite find the right words to covey what he wants to say, but before they can fully come together, the door is pressed open and the familiar uniform of an air hostess peers in the doorway. Jim turns his head, no doubt looking like a deer in headlights to the woman who is now scowling down at him.

“And what's going on in here boys?”

Jim’s sure this looks quite bad, his messed up makeup, the fact he’s basically kneeling down in front of Leonard whos sitting on the closed toilet seat. 

“You two wouldn’t be trying to join the mile high club now would you?” she questions, folding her arms, eyes narrowed in disapproval. “Because there is zero tolerance for that behaviour on board. Now, one of you better leave this toilet ASAP or I’m going to have to report this. You’re just lucky you’re both clothed, or I wouldn’t even be giving you this option.”

Jim gulps at both her tone and her threat. He doesn’t like to think of what his agents or the Fashion Week committee would think if they heard about any of this. So, Jim slowly gets to his feet.

“Oh shit, sorry-” he begins, ready to say some kind of excuse and salvage himself, when suddenly inspiration hits. His anger had disappeared as soon as Leonard had muttered the truth, but then again a little revenge on his lover might just lighten things up a bit…after all that was just said.

“He was just so desperate, I told him we should wait until we land but he insisted he couldn’t wait,” Jim sighs pitifully, patting the woman on the shoulder as he walks out, giving her a _you know what I mean?_ look. He concludes from her chuckle that she in fact on the same page as him, a smug wiggle to his hips as he makes his way back down the aisle towards his seat.

As if he wasn't mortified enough, Leonard is ready to glare daggers after the blond when the woman fixes him with a stern look, one he can't tell if it’s entirely serious or not as he hadn't seen the exchange between Jim and herself, shaking her head and closing the door on him. Gaping from one end of the cubicle to the other at the entire situation, Leonard eventually deflates in defeat with a sigh.

He takes a quick moment to rinse his mouth out and generally make himself more presentable before he can make the journey back out into the cabin and to his seat. Needless to say, he’d **really** have to make good on that dinner if not throw in a few hours of make-up cuddles, and so he makes a pitstop with one of the stewards - not the one they had just encountered, mind - for something a bit easier to keep down than his earlier choice. Just because Jim now knows about his affliction, doesn’t guarantee that the blond will show mercy in the face of him losing his nerve again, but… baby steps.


	8. Leave the Lights On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW chapter ahead - she's getting steamy now, boys 😎
> 
> Title reference is this [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MsFdaLIGyas)

The airport in New York is like a literal sea of activity, people dressed for business powering through in waves while the tourists and leisurers get caught up and whirled in the undertow. Our pair are lucky enough to have a chauffeur with their surnames printed on a plaque waiting for them just outside of Arrivals, and so are streamlined through the crowds and the nightmare of trying to find a cab by themselves. Bags loaded into the back of the sleek black Mercedes, they take off into the warm evening air, into the heart of the city. Jim is able to point out many of the iconic sights along the way like Broadway and Central Park, and while Leonard doesn't care much for them, the child-like giddiness twinkling in his partner’s eyes holds his admiration like a honeytrap.

Once they exit the taxi and have their fill of gawking up at the small-city-looking behemoth of a hotel that is the Ritz-Carlton, the boys cart their luggage inside and check in at the front desk. Leonard feels painfully underdressed as the receptionist in a starch pressed uniform raises a perfectly drawn eyebrow at him, but her expression holds a new note of curiosity to it when Jim gives their names. Keycards exchange hands and they are promptly escorted into an elevator and up several floors, directed down a corridor then finally left to their own devices.

Setting down his bags at the door and keycard in hand, Leonard approaches the mechanical lock on the door with some dad-level fumbling and frustrated mutters before it gives a soft beep and lights up green. Pocketing the card and picking the bags back up along with his damaged pride, he presses the door all of the way open. As he takes a step inside, his eyes do a full sweep of the illustriousness that is the room they're given.

Ceiling unnecessarily high, a four poster bed with linen so white it could blind to have a light reflected off of it, marble topped everything in terms of furniture and of course a full wall facing out onto the city that is not in fact a wall, but instead a 100 square foot window. That isn't even all, as there is an alcove in the far wall that he can only assume leads to more. Upon closer inspection, there is a cooler with fresh ice and a bottle in it waiting on the footrest at the end of the bed, which has rose petals scattered in a trail up to it and over the duvet and pillows for good measure.

“Huh,” Leonard announces, sarcastic amounts of flippancy dripping from his voice as he turns to Jim and raises the bottle by the neck to show him. “ _Dom Perignon_.”

“Rose petals? Champagne? I think the hotel is trying to tell us something,” Jim teases as he hops on to the queen sized bed, sinking into the soft mattress and successfully star fishing across it.

“Who knew flying could be so tiring?” he mumbles into one of the pillows. His lack of sleep and emotional rollercoaster of a day were finally catching up with him, he couldn't find the energy to race around exploring the room as he had previously planned to do - he can't even find the motivation to change out of his travelling clothes or charge his phone, which he’ll definitely regret tomorrow.

Leonard chuckles earnestly in response and brings the bottle with him to sit on the edge of the bed, unwrapping the foil cover as he glances back over his shoulder. Sending an appreciative look up and down the length of Jim’s stretched out form, he can't help but chew at his bottom lip as he uncoils the wire cap from around the champagne’s neck. There had been countless occasions during their time together that the model had hinted at wanting to be physical - not that they hadn't done _anything_ of course, but Leonard’s wariness around the man’s experience with past partners had always pricked at his conscience. As well as the plain fact that their schedules often just didn't allow for steamy makeouts to go much further before one of their phones would ring and they’d have to part ways. And Leonard isn't a man known to skip foreplay, so a quick and messy handjob was never an option.

But at this instance, there would be no phone calls. No work to run off to in a few hours. The day is theirs and, secretly, Leonard is an opportunist. With his palm laid protectively over the top of the cork, he gives it a firm twist and slowly tugs at it until it gives a satisfying pop, wanting to rocket across the room but instead being cradled into the photographer’s practiced hands.

“Beats me,” he hums, leaning over to brace a hand against the mattress on the opposite side of Jim then dipping down to press a chaste kiss squarely between the man’s shoulders. “All that sitting in the one place, then rushing about…” with a further drawl, he slowly trails his kisses higher along his spine until he surpasses the fabric of Jim’s clothes and lathes enticingly over the nape of his neck. “Enough to make a man _real_ tense, dont’cha agree?”

Jim would have to argue on that last point seeing as his whole body just melted under Leonard’s gentle touch. His spine is now tingling from the tender contact and he can feel the warmth of Bones’ breath against his neck as the other man’s lips hover above it. He hums in response, turning his head slightly to the side to uncover his mouth

“You think the hotel offers massages?” Jim hums in feigned innocence and does his best to hide his grin. “I’m sure their spa must have some muscular men lying around to loosen me up.” Jim is full on teasing now as he twists slightly so he can smile up at the older man, doing little to hide the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 

Narrowing his eyes playfully, Leonard shifts to kneel up on the bed.

“You could go to all that bother,” he ushers coyly, passing the bottle between his hands to free them from his jacket sleeves as he makes a show of shrugging it from his shoulders, not once breaking eye contact. Letting it shuck to the floor, he looms forward again to snake his free hand up Jim’s hip to his waist, catching his thumb in the pesky fabric of the blond’s shirt along the way and openly ogling the newly exposed flesh beneath. “But why pay for what you already brought from home?”

Jim licks his lips subconsciously as Leonard’s jacket falls to the floor, exposing his toned arms.  
He carefully watches as the photographer’s hand snakes up his torso, dragging the bottom of his shirt with it. The model instinctively swallows as his lover takes a generous gulp from the gold labeled bottle, Jim’s mouth feeling incredibly dry when the man’s Adam’s Apple bobs pleasingly, practically begging to be kissed and licked and… _ngh_.

Jim pushes himself off one of his arms, twisting fully so he’s now facing the photographer, their faces inches apart. Leonard’s hand stays high on his chest as Jim leans in to whisper in the man’s ear, “I was unaware I’d brought a professional with me.”

Leonard turns his head to nestle his cheek into Jim’s, shuddering slightly at the tickle of his words.

“Professional might be a bit generous,” he admits, a small smirk touching his lips as he maneuvers to be kneeling between the model’s legs. “But I’m no less eager to please.” Catching Jim’s chin between his forefinger and thumb, Leonard brings it to a pleasing tilt and offers the lip of the bottle to him. The blond parts his lips obligingly, eyelashes fluttering as his irises behind them go glossy and unfocused. It’s truly a sight, watching the model’s breath hitch as the crisp bubbly liquid flows against his taste buds, instinct taking over as he swallows around the stream and hums his delight at the crisp taste.

Leonard entertains him a few moments more, before tipping the end of the bottle higher and watching Kirk’s eyes widen as his mouth is flooded, champagne overflowing out onto his chin. Setting the bottle to the side once more, McCoy tuts his disapproval before pinning Jim to the bed by the wrists.

“That mouthful alone was probably twenty dollars,” the brunet chides, regarding the mess smearing the lower half of Jim’s face with distaste. “Can’t be wasteful now, can we?” Pressing his lips to the side of Jim’s jaw, Leonard’s hands shift between the mattress and the man’s shoulder blades by way of under his ribs, fingertips melding into the bulk that is his lover’s trapezius muscles with soothing pulses of motion.

Jim has to clamp his lips together to suppress a whine as Leonard’s tongue seeps out to lick his chin clean, all the while his hands work magic on his back.  
His eyes flutter shut as his focus switches to the feeling of Bones’ fingertips as they dig further and further into his strained muscles. His own hands find themselves grasping Leonard’s biceps, desperate to be touching the gorgeous man hovering above him.

Searching diligently for any semblance of tension in Jim’s toned back, Leonard works the pads of his fingers into its entirety then glides lower, pressing a firm kiss to the blond’s lips in the process. Drawing the model by the waist into an arch, he presses their torsos flush together while forcing the taste of the champagne back into Jim’s mouth, who can only groan as he goes to mush in Bones’ hands.

Wet and messy play had never been something Jim thought he’d be into, and he’s not entirely sure that’s what this is, but whatever spell the photographer has him under, he never wants to wake up because _fuck_ his whole body is alight. The blond hasn’t even registered the fact that Leonard’s mouth isn’t on his anymore because there’s a knot just below his shoulder blades that has been ripped loose and it’s unholy how good this man is with his hands.

“Can I take your shirt off, baby?” Leonard whispers all gentlemanly, lips now ghosting over the sensitive skin of Jim’s neck with every word while his fingers toy with the hem of aforementioned clothing item, still disrupted and displaced from before but very much so in the way.

‘ _Oh, yes_ ’, Jim thinks to himself, that word has a significantly different effect on him when he’s not angry. He nods dumbly, not trusting what sound will come out of his mouth if he chooses to open it. The manhandling and brush of lips at his neck is making his stomach tighten and a warm feeling bundles in his chest. Jim strains to remember the last time he’d felt this way. He sucks in a deep breath as he feels Leonard pulling at the fabric of his shirt, keen to be more exposed and accessible for the other man.

Once he's rid Jim of his shirt and discarded it to the floor, Leonard is back to raking his eyes over every dip, curve and inch of the man on show for him. He lets a low shameless groan push up out of his throat, head shaking slightly in disbelief.

“God, you get more beautiful every time I look at you,” he gives in a sultry chuckle before diving in, hot breath forcing its way out of his nostrils as he adorns his partner's delightfully flushed chest with open-mouthed kisses.

Jim’s not sure if its the sexy groan, blunt compliment, deep chuckle or all three that send his blood rushing south, but really he doesn’t have time to dwell on such a mystery as Bones attacks his chest.  
His back arches without his approval, a whine slipping from his mouth as he yearns for more.  
The older man seems to be taking his time, as though he’s trying to kiss every inch of Jim’s chest. That thought alone is enough to leave Jim squirming, desperate for Leonard to hurry up.

Leonard was about to sink lower and take up from where he left off however many weeks ago, truly he was. But the noise that leaves Jim’s mouth up above him is music to his ears and he can't possibly not indulge. Hooking an elbow under one of the blond’s knees, he hikes it up onto his side and crawls lower down his torso, pausing at the hem of his jeans for his gaze to flick up and catch Jim’s irresistibly glossy eyes.

“Tell me what you want,” he orders, practised hands giving praise to his lover's thighs and hips, but dancing anywhere except the man's crotch. “Can hear ya holdin’ back. And that really won't do.”

Embarrassment blossoms across Jim’s face as he takes in Leonard’s words, a grunt of protest breaking through his ragged breathing. He was becoming lost to the sensations currently itching across his hips and thighs, wanting nothing more than for Leonard to give him any type of relief.  
His head flicks to the side, hiding in the crook of his shoulder as he tries to fight the feeling of humiliation as he begs the other man.

“Please- Please I need-” he groans in frustration. “Need you to touch me Bones- to feel you”

A pang of heat rushes through the photographer’s chest and down into the pit of his gut, the only word coming to mind at the sound of Jim pleading with him being, most intelligently, _hot_. Wetting his lips, Leonard makes short work of undoing the other man’s bottoms and wrenching them downwards, situating himself back between Jim’s legs in record time. Propping both knees up over either shoulder, Leonard nips his way down one of the model’s thighs while his hand from the other side gets to work, palming at the outline of Jim through his boxers with generous amounts of friction.

A moan vibrates its way through Jim’s chest as his stomach is stretched upwards, his own weight pinning his shoulders to the bed. His hands grapple at the mattress, grasping the soft fabric in two clenched fists as his eyes twist shut in pleasure. The sharp scrape of Leonard’s teeth on his flesh and the glorious friction currently occupying his dick leaves Jim a whimpering mess. He’d never felt so close and yet so far from relief in his life.

He tries to convey his urgency with a strangled “Bones-” before the sensation becomes too much and his words are cut off by another groan.

Drinking in every breathy gasp and moan from his lover's lips, Leonard watches how his body reacts to a task requiring such little effort and revels in the satisfaction. He continues to splay over the hardened length of Jim’s clothed member before craning his neck and rounding his hands to the man’s plush behind. Kneading into the mounds of Jim’s ass, he replaces the attention his digits gave moments before by mouthing wetly at the base of his cock, unrelenting in his barrage against the blond’s senses.

The damp hotness against his erection is almost too much and Jim almost cums there and then in his boxers like some horny teenager.

In his defense, it had been five months since his dick had seen anything bar private action. Four months of build up to this moment and by god, Leonard is not disappointing him.

His sensitivity grows the more Leonard teases his base, and Jim’s torn between wanting the mouthing to continue up his cock and wanting those glistening pink lips to be sucking their way down his head. The twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach grows like a fire burning its way to his groin - he knows he won’t last much longer.

He whines the man’s name louder this time, his voice cracking under the strain of his conviction to not cum with his underwear still on.

By the time Leonard has worked his way higher up the other man’s length and is ready to tease at his tip, the dampness waiting there that's not of his own creation makes something feral akin to a growl rumble in the back of his throat. Shifting once more to dismiss his partner’s underwear to his ankles, Leonard scoures the magnificent nakedness that is James T Kirk - hand carved by the very gods themselves from flawless Calacatta marble - and almost hates himself for not thinking to do away with any of his own restrictive clothing.

‘ _That can come later_ ,’ he tells himself before sinking back down on his elbows. The overwhelming need to see the man writhe at his doing precedes all else, and so Leonard presses the flat of his tongue to the underside of Jim’s dick and starts gliding upwards. 

The feeling of the cool air against his cock barely registers as not even a second later the magnificent mouth of Leonard McCoy is traveling across his length. The man's talented tongue elicits a series of whimpers from the model as he struggles under the sensory overload the photographer is enabling. The feeling of curling fingertips around the base of his cock is the final straw - the dedication Bones had to pleasuring him had won out.

Trapping its crown behind his lips and curling his fingers around whatever his mouth can't reach, McCoy bobs his head to steadily suck this gorgeous man off. His hand works in tandem to his lips, simply stroking the shaft at first to soon ease into a twist motion, his palm creating a helix of motion around the silky skin of Jim’s length. This only gets easier as he holds no bars in letting saliva build up around the protrusion in his mouth, seeping past his lips and creating a slick film around the model’s cock. At this, the blond’s stomach spasms, muscles taut and gorgeously intoxicating to bear witness to as an equally enchanting whimper tumbles from his lips.  
The wet noises of suction and skin sliding against skin make Leonard moan, his toes curling behind him as he realises exactly how hungry he was to be doing this again, and how grateful he is for Jim being such a receptive partner.

Kirk panics slightly as he feels a sharp heat rising inside him, building up at his base.

“Leonard- I'm gonna-” he weakly tries to warn the other man, fisting uselessly at the sheets.

The mention of Leonard’s actual name fills him to the brim with conviction. Giving an encouraging hum around his lover’s cock, the photographer hollows his cheeks in tighter and quickens his efforts, free hand gracing from its place against the mattress to high up on Jim’s stomach, just below his sternum. His eyes train in through his eyelashes on what he can see of Jim’s face, watching in adoration as he swallows effortlessly deeper around his cock, nose nestling against the tamed swirls of hair lining the end of the model’s abdomen.

To see him toppling over the edge, losing himself in the white hot pleasure that McCoy can deliver… it's enough to have the photographer grinding his own hips desperately into the bed below them.

A whine that had been building up in Jim's throat comes out as a sharp yelp followed by a desperate “Leonard!” as the model unravels.

His hips convulsing as his orgasm hits hard, a whirlpool of sensation washes over him like a sea of fire as the pleasure ripples through him. His hands twist at the mattress hopelessly trying to ground himself, his heart beating in his ears as he attempts to breath in again.

As he looks down at Bones, two hungry hazel eyes are trained on him, focusing on every second of his orgasm as his stretched lips stay taut around his head, bobbing up and down. Jim can't even begin to describe what that fierce look does to him as he finally starts to come down from his euphoria. His gasping lungs and now lifeless body sink helplessly into the mattress, his legs slipping from Leonard's shoulders on their own accord as the energy drains from his muscles. He’s reeling, the room spinning in a precarious mix of physical bliss and the vague beginnings of intoxication. It’s dizzying.

The privilege of watching Jim’s whole body go from heightened alertness to deflated bliss in a matter of minutes is one Leonard won't soon take for granted, his dark eyes glassy and half lidded in dumbstruck admiration as he pulls the model through to the finish line.

Slowly slinking his mouth off of him with a thin string of saliva still connecting them for a moment, Leonard leans back on his hunkers. With a broad sweep of his thumb across his tongue and inner cheek, he empties his mouth of Jim’s release and wipes it off on his shirt, unable to care about stains or laundry to do later as the panting afterglow radiating off of his lover draws at him. With delicate movements to be mindful of the man’s sensitised skin, Leonard dots kisses along the centreline of Jim's perfect body, eventually planting one against his cheek and just hovering a few centimeters above his face.

Seeing the raw vulnerability of the model post-orgasm, all flushed and open with relief, Leonard’s mind wanders. He wants, more than anything else, to make the man feel wanted, cared for. To show how intent he is on fulfilling Jim’s every need and how perceptive he can be to what the blond _wants_. And so, eyes alight with affection and warmth, he affirms a gentle praise of “Good boy.”

Jim shudders under the weight of the praise, a different warmth now pooling in his stomach.  
His eyes flutter open to gaze longingly at the man above him, too much in a daze to speak. It’d almost been him that forgot about the gems of interaction that were his first attempts at flirting with Bones, peppered with innuendos and less vanilla inclinations. He’s suspected Leonard thought it was just part of an act, brushed it off at best. But they hadn’t talked about it since - the fact he remembered all this time and deemed post getting his throat fucked the opportune moment to comment makes Jim cringe at his past self.

‘ _Kirk, you thirsty bitch_ ,’ he inwardly chides, unable to dismiss the sudden thought that Bones was probably mocking him with his choice of words. But then his eyes rake over his still clothed lover. Noticing the bulge in the photographer’s pants and suddenly feeling very cheated, guilt soon clouds his mind as he reaches a hand up to play with the zip. He wants Leonard to have the same sweet relief he had experienced, see more of him than just being a pitiful joke.

Noting the change in Jim’s expression, Leonard eyes the hand travelling to the front of his jeans, humming briefly. Laying on his side facing the model with his elbow propped up to rest his head in his palm, he graces the backs of his knuckles up Jim’s active arm tentatively.

“Y’know,” he starts, careful to keep his voice soft and considerate rather than sounding condescending. “If you're tired, ‘m happy to wait.”

Jim's eyes travel from the man's groin up the length of his fit body before locking eyes with him.  
Confusion sweeps through Jim as he stares into Bones’ hazel eyes, trying to decipher the man's mood and decide how to respond.

He anxiously licks his lips, not wanting to leave Leonard waiting or feeling neglected. But he'd never been asked so directly like this before if he wanted to wait, he isn't sure which answer is appropriate...

The conflict behind the man before him’s eyes makes Leonard’s heart feel a bit raw, hurt on his behalf that patience and even being asked what he wants is something foreign to Jim. To lighten the mood, the photographer leans in to steal a soft kiss against the blond’s lips.

“I've got you all week, wouldn't wantcha to get bored of me in the first hour, hm?” he jokes, an eyebrow quirked and a smile playing his lips with notes of charm he'd picked up from the very model himself.

Jim nods, still a bit dumbstruck, but more relaxed as Leonard pulls back from his tender kiss. His brain really needs to shut up sometimes because there isn’t anything there he can hear except consideration, actual care for what he wants to do. What, and he means this when he says it, the actual fuck?

Feeling a bit more like himself he cheekily retorts. “I’m sure we can find ways to keep things interesting.”

Jim wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis and can’t fight back giddiness as a smile stretches across his face, leaving a shine in his eyes. He raises his hand from Leonard’s crotch and instead cards it through the brunette’s hair, marveling at the silkiness of the man’s locks and how it feels brushing against Jim’s fingertips.

How could someone be so perfect?

Leaning his head into the gesture and breathing a contented sigh, Leonard lets his eyes half lid as he stares out of the window at the sunset, the sky peaking between the tops of skyscrapers and artificial lights with its warm hues of pink and orange. Knowing that Jim can feel at ease around him, even if it takes some prompting and a little bit of a waiting period, is what he had been wanting all day. Their slip up earlier hammered home just how skittish the poor guy could get, but they can get through it.

Leonard knows damn well he wants to.

“Now get off me, we’ve got overpriced wine to finish.”

“Ugh, you brat.”


	9. Under His Spell

The first thing Jim is aware of when he wakes up is an arm gripping around his waist and the feeling of hot breath on his neck. It feels like he’s surrounded by warmth and comfort to the point it’s a struggle to open his eyes and shatter the moment.

A beam of light filters in through the hazaphardly drawn curtains, and luckily it angles behind Jim so, when he opens his eyes, he has time to adjust to the morning sun. Turning his head slightly, he takes in Bones’ profile. Despite the usual relaxed posture of someone asleep, the man still furrows his eyebrows ever so slightly and the hint of a frown manages to corner his lips. Even asleep, Bones is a grump, and Jim would have laughed at that thought had he not feared for waking the photographer.

Instead, he gently removes the man’s arm and sneaks out of the bed. He grabs his phone on the way to the bathroom, checking his schedule for the day and replying to messages as he stumbles into the bathroom.

It is, to say the least, a shock to Jim.

The first thing to catch his eyes is the giant, jacuzzi-like tub in the corner of the bathroom. It takes up a third of the room and seems to have a seat built into its side, with two marble steps leading up to the edge of it. Beside it stands a glass shower that is probably the size of Jim’s entire bathroom back home, that seems to have not just one, but two shower heads. Matching the tiles of the walls of the shower are the sinks - two white basins resting on the marble counters, a giant mirror hanging over them. Littered across the counter are various courtesy razors, creams and soaps, which Jim takes severals seconds to mess with and read through their scents. He finally decides on a raspberry body wash and shampoo and goes through his usual shower and skin care routine.

He’s just about to leave when he sees a message from his agent, saying that he’d like to meet Leonard and Jim for dinner that night to go over a shoot the designer wants them to do together on Wednesday morning, before that day’s catwalk. He sends a quick reply before heading back into the bedroom area to get changed into something light, seeing as he’d be spending most the day trying on clothes for the upcoming week, then also putting together an outfit for the dinner.

With a groggy hum, Leonard balls a fist into the empty sheets at his side and slowly comes to, sure that he had fallen asleep with an armful of blond and wondering where it had gone. Grunting quietly, he sits up and does a survey of the room, disoriented by its unfamiliar layout until Jim hopping into a leg of his pants comes into view. Smiling sleepily, the photographer mumbles out a “Good morning” between a yawn, stretching his arms high above his head.

“You're very chipper,” he adds with a slump, throwing his legs over the side of the bed to get his bearings better - he had always been the morning person, Jim being so energetic really throws him off. With the duvet now cast aside, the cool air hits his boxer-clad form and he shivers, watching Jim pull his final articles of clothing on with lazy interest.

“Chipper? Bones, I feel like a firework about to go off, I’m so excited! Oh, and just wait until you see the bathroom - it’s insane!” Jim grins, his smile almost splitting his face in two as he rambles on. Turning to the vanity unit in their room, he works a comb through his still damp hair then rummages through the drawers for a hair dryer.

“By the way, my agent wants to meet up with us tonight to go over some shoot later this week, can I borrow a red tie?” Jim sheepishly adds, turning his head to give Leonard his best puppy dog impression. “I seem to have brought every colour of the rainbow bar that one.”

Leonard brings a forefinger and thumb to his chin, pretending to consider the issue as dramatically as his still impaired state allows. With a final sigh of defeat, he throws his head back.

“Do what you must,” he tuts in dismay, soon slumping back into his original relaxed position. Forcing himself to his feet, he tempts a trip into the bathroom, pausing for a moment to remember where he had unpacked his formal wear to the night before.

“Mmh, third drawer, t’ the left,” he assures, making a vague gesture towards the broad chest of drawers Jim is closer to. As he stands before the sink, his first concern is the massive cow’s lick sticking up from the side of his head. But the mirror also reveals the equal immensity of the bathroom over his shoulder, and ushers a breathless “Oh lordy…” from the very base of his chest. _Explore time_.

Once Jim finally has his hair dry and suit hung outside the wardrobe for that night, he makes his way over to the drawers that Leonard had motioned to.

Now, Jim Kirk is many things, but a snooper isn’t one of them. However, it’s a complete coincidence that Bones’ red tie happens to be at the bottom of all the others, in the real back of the drawer. And with all of them so neatly rolled up, Jim just thought it made more sense to flip through the other articles of clothing around the ties to reach the red one.

Which leads to an incredible discovery.

As he’s pushing away a white shirt to get the tie, he happens to notice a flash of black lace. Jim’s impulsiveness kicks in hard and, before he can question ethics, he has grabbed a hold of the edge and yanks the carefully concealed garment out into the air.

His heart stops for a moment.

Designed not dissimilar to women’s underwear with a thin piece of fabric to wrap around the hips and just enough curving underneath to cup the wearer’s package, are a pair of silk briefs. Gorgeous as they are with their decorative lace hemming, they have an add-on - two extra loops of fabric that Jim can make an educated guess to assume would surround the wearer’s upper thighs, connected to the rest of the lingerie by thin vertical straps.

He clasps the briefs to his chest fondly and has to sink his teeth into his bottom lip to contain his excitement. This is just too _good_.

Bones owns _lingerie_. Actual men’s lingerie to wear that he’d _brought with him_. One pair among a few, now that he takes a closer look.

Just picturing the man in them had Jim licking his lips and shifting on the spot, pressing his legs together. It was at this moment that he got one of his famous Kirk ideas.

Having more or less tamed his hair and familiarised himself with the bathroom layout, Leonard goes in search of a towel when it dawns on in that Jim… had been eerily quiet? Not that he’s a blabbermouth or anything, but plenty of commentary is just become something the photographer had grown to expect from him.

“You still alive out there?” he calls out jokingly, putting the fresh towel on the rack beside the shower as he’s ready to go about getting into it, but the further lack of response stalls him. 

“Jim?” he tries again, this time trudging to the archway back into the main room with a concerned frown. His expression- no, the very _colour_ runs from his face as he spots the model standing there and what’s in his hands. Frozen in place with his eyes blown wide like dinner plates, Leonard wishes the ground would open up and eat him as the blond notices him from the corner of his eye and breaks into a grin that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame.

Jim can’t contain the smirk on his face as he hears the man approaching, calling out to him, clueless to what sight awaits him when he reaches the bedroom.  
The expression Jim witnesses on Leonard’s face will never be forgotten. He feels simultaneously smug and sorry for Bones as he physically pales at the sight of what Jim is holding.

“Unusual choice of formal wear, Bones,” Jim lilts, holding the lingerie up with the waistband spread around his thumbs for emphasis. Leonard just watches, completely tense, as Jim saunters slowly towards him, heat rolling off of him in waves. Kirk can’t help but revel in the way the photographer’s breath hitches as he reaches him, loosely wrapping his arms around the man and purposely trailing the fabric along his shirtless back.

“Care to explain?” Jim teases, enjoying the show of emotions flashing across Leonard’s still startled face.

McCoy is _mortified_ , to say the very fucking least. Between Jim’s obnoxious confidence and the ticklish sensation of the lace gracing over his skin, he can somewhat comprehend the heat rushing to his cheeks. It spreading elsewhere however, namely further south on his torso, is completely unanticipated and feeds even further into his embarrassment.

“That's, uhh…” he stutters, blinking frantically as he can't quite look away for safety since Jim is directly up in his face. “Well… th-they're… alright, listen here, you brat! Why were you in my stuff-”

Jumping to the defensive and dodging the question will in no way help his case, but Leonard can't help it, making a ducking motion out of Jim’s hold and snatching the lingerie from his grubby thieving hands. Fully prepared to stride back into the bathroom out of the blond’s reach, Leonard turns his back in a move he's not quite sure is his wisest ever.

Jim shamelessly stares at the man’s behind as he turns around, letting out a low wolf whistle.

“C’mon Bones, a pretty ass like yours shouldn’t be stuck with such boring boxers” he grins, referring to the man’s current choice of underwear. “That pretty piece of lingerie should frame everything perfectly!”

Jim’s barely holding back his sniggers as he adds “Why not put them on after your shower? I’m just _dying _to see what they look like.”__

He innocently walks away then, back to the vanity unit to start his makeup, slightly annoyed he hadn’t been able to see all of Leonard’s reactions but excited for the show that is to come. That is, if Bones rises to his challenge.

If steam could come out of his ears, it probably would as Leonard's entire posture stiffens under the comments. He opens his mouth to speak but words betray him so he grumbles back into the bathroom, dismayed at the lack of a door to purposefully slam but too proud to do anything but what he had intended in the first place.

Fumbling with the briefs for a moment, he makes a _myeh _sort of sound as he chucks them halfway across the tiled room, getting more tense by the second as he shimmies out of his current underwear. About to grouch his way into the shower cubicle, he stops mid-step and sends a slow glance over his shoulder. Pursing his lips, he stares intently into the mirror and dares to arch his back.__

____

Okay... he does have a pretty good ass. Toned thighs too, emphasised by a tentative wiggle. _But that is entirely besides the point_ , he can't let Jim get into his brain like that. In an attempt to drown it all out, he turns the water on and steps under, the rhythmic hiss from the shower head leveling his thoughts slowly but surely.

By the time he has his hair and body routine all covered and is towelling himself dry, Leonard has an intense staredown with the lacy garment draped haphazardly off the edge of the sink. He can't very well walk out _not_ wearing them. How cowardly he would look - it's only overglorified underwear for god’s sake! Such… Would be the pot calling the kettle black, as they belong to him in the first place.

Some sick part of him is actually jumping for joy in its tiny crevice of Leonard's gut that things had unfurled this way, and that he wouldn't have had to do the awkward explaining of _I get off to being demasculinised from time to time_. Because all hell knows Jim had probably figured out as much already, waving somebody else’s private possessions around like that. Or he's just a brat. Either option is just as likely. With a determined inhale and a straightened back, the brunet makes a decision.

As he enters the bedroom once more, Leonard holds his head high. The towel he had brought with him draped over his shoulder, he spots the model busying himself elsewhere in the room and sucks in a breath. Giving the towel a careless chuck in Jim’s direction, not even looking to see how disruptively it lands on him, Leonard makes a slow saunter towards the chest of drawers from before with a subtle but distinctive sway to his step. Bending from the hips to shamelessly flaunt his behind, he fishes around in the infamous drawer his delicates had been uncovered from, and prises up a pair of stockings to complete the look. Pulling up the stool from the vanity table, he sits himself comfortably on it, crosses a knee over the other and looks Jim directly in the eyes as he pulls one stocking on in a singular practiced motion.

Jim wasn’t sure Bones would do it. He can’t remember ever seeing the man so flustered, about anything. A part of Jim thought he’d come marching out of the bathroom all grumpy and snarky and throw the damn panties at Jim.  
He’s kneeling to put away the last of his own clothing that he hadn’t had time to unpack the night before when he feels something soft hit his back.

He hadn’t heard Leonard enter and his heart skips a beat when he’s caught off guard by the towel, but it’s nothing compared to the cardiac arrest he nearly goes into when he sees Bones at the dresser, his back to Jim as he leans forward practically in slow motion.

In a single second Jim’s entire mouth and throat dry up, a gaping mess as he tries to comprehend the perfect curve of Leonard’s ass being superbly framed by the floral print lace material.  
His eyes follow the man to the stool in awe and Jim doesn’t even notice the stockings until the first one is being pulled up Leonard’s leg. The fluid movement doesn’t go completely over Jim’s head as he realises, _Bones has done this before_. And by the looks of it, more than a few times.

That’s when Jim notices that Leonard is looking him straight in the eyes. No nervousness, no embarrassment, this time Bones is ready, in control.

Jim tries to swallow some moisture back into his throat and say something, anything, but for the first time that morning he’s speechless. He had expected to be the one encouraging Bones to loosen up, for the photographer to be the one shying away and looking for assurance, but that couldn't be further from the reality. Leonard is staring him down like a wolf would its prey, dominant and overwhelming and it is _so_ damn sexy.

He’s also now becoming painfully aware of just how interesting his penis is finding this whole exchange.

To have Leonard all confident and pretty just glaring at him like that across the room, trained solely on Jim, he’s actually starting to feel lightheaded.

_Satisfaction _isn't quite the right word to describe the feeling that spreads through Leonard's chest at the awestruck look on his lover’s face, but he absolutely has other, better things to worry about than exercising his vocabulary. A softer but highly composed expression graces his features as his eyes take a purposeful detour down Jim’s form, a playful glint rising in them by the time they've landed at the man’s crotch.__

____

"Now now,” he chides, an almost scolding quality to his voice if it weren't for the demure southern-belle undertones it held. Switching which leg to have resting atop the other, but naturally making a whole performance out of having his knees spread and hips arched ever so slightly before hiding it all again, he makes another effortless show out of pulling the second sheer stocking up, only this time leaving his thumb hooked in the elastic of the hold-ups. “Somethin’s tellin’ me you're gettin’ more of a kick outta this than I am.”

With the one corner of his lips touching ever higher, he punctuates by drawing his thumb sharply away, the elastic snapping against his thigh. The crisp sting makes his breath hitch for but a moment, but does nothing to rapture his confidence, the almost pained look on Jim’s face egging him on whether it means to or not.

“So are you gonna keep ogling me over there or pick your jaw up off the floor n’ , _Jim dear_?”

 _Oh_ , Jim was definitely getting ‘a kick’ out of this.

The word _dear_ hits him hard, the whole tone of Leonard’s voice setting something new off inside of Jim. His stomach feels weak and his hands clench into fists, his nails lightly digging into his palms and feeling as though the weight of his body has up and disappeared.

His tongue is awkward in his mouth, tongue-tied being something that Jim had never really understood until now. Since he can’t actually answer the man, Kirk decides actions will speak louder.  
He tries to rise to his feet, but apparently his legs have become jelly and he makes it to an almost standing position when his feet betray him and he stumbles forward, momentum driving him towards Bones.

He ends up on knees in front of Leonard, disorientated and awestruck by the flawless sculpture of the man before him.  
The lingerie makes Bones’ thighs look somehow evenmore defined, more spectacular. The man’s whole look right now screams both graceful and handsome and Jim suddenly feels ike a preteen, finding out how sexual attraction works all over again.

An eyebrow quirks at Jim’s fumble, but relaxes once more as the man is a) not looking injured and b) still totally dumbstruck. By some stroke of inspiration, Leonard shifts his bottom leg, resting his foot on the model’s thigh and making a slow ascent higher, pressing the arch of it lightly into the man’s hip.

“Awful mouthy about how bad you wanted to see me like this earlier,” the photographer coos, feeling his heart thudding against his ribs as the adrenaline of this sudden power surge courses through his veins. His skin feels hot, burning under the hungry searching of Jim’s eyes but he’d be damned to shrink under it. In fact, he's loving it.

“But now that’cha got what you wanted, there’s not a peep outta ya. Funny that,” Leonard’s coy smirk only widens as he glides the heel of his foot in against Jim’s inner thigh, adding a smug “Don'tcha think?"

Jim audibly gulps as any witty comeback seems to flow south with his blood as the feeling of the stocking glides across his skin, his breath hitching when it brushes his groin.  
Almost subconsciously Jim's hand finds itself tracing up the other man's leg, reveling in the static feel of the thigh highs and desperately trying to reach the slip of skin above them.

"I have no regrets,” Jim manages to find his voice just long enough to croak out.

Wetting his lips, Leonard reaches down for Jim’s hand. Tracing the man’s knuckles sensually before venturing to curl around his wrist, the brunet guides it higher up his thigh and onto his hip. Uncrossing his legs and letting his knees drift apart, he passes Kirk’s hand over the lace texture of the lingerie then up to his sternum. Leonard arches into Jim’s palm for effect as he tempts it lower once more, a breathy _mmh_ leaving him as the man’s fingertips rake over his stomach.  
With lips not quite meeting in the middle, he lets his head loll to the one side as he sends a beckoning look to the wonderfully fascinated man kneeling before him.

The oscar winning performance unfolding in front of Jim almost leaves him choking uselessly on his own saliva, mouth watering at the very sight of the man. Fire dances between the Jim’s palm and Leonard’s skin as the photographer guides his hand lower and lower down his toned abdomen.  
Something predatory seems to snap in Jim as his eyes fix on _where_ exactly his hand is being led.

He easily weasels out of Leonard’s loose grip and instead grabs Leonard’s wrists, snapping his momentum forward to force Leonard to lean back on his hands against the Vanity unit behind him and prevent himself from falling off of the stool.

He basks in the view of Leonard’s now puffed chest and sculpted shoulders at face level before his hands lazily trace down the older man’s sides, only stopping at the lingerie for a moment before nimble fingers are slipping under the waistband and rubbing along the width of Leonard’s hips appreciatively.

Glancing briefly at Leonard’s face first, Jim finds himself kissing along the man’s stomach. His tongue ghosts across the coconut scented skin, working his mouth lower and lower until his lips are mouthing against both skin and lingerie.

With his hands rendered otherwise occupied, Leonard can only shudder at the tantalising sensations Jim delivers with that heavenly mouth of his. He doesn't dare hide the way his eyes darken with arousal, staring down the length of his torso indulgently and revelling in the perfection of the blond’s eyelashes fluttering, the dusting of colour on his cheeks, the slight swell of his lips. The urge to buck in search of friction twists like a tight coil in Leonard’s abdomen, him groaning lowly as he fights it and instead effectively stirrups his feet against Jim’s hips once more, his thighs spread agape to leave himself completely open to the will of his lover.

It’s when Jim is shamelessly nibbling at the waistband of the lingerie, prepared to peel the briefs off with his teeth, that an idea strikes him.

His hands snake down across Leonard’s pelvis and continue gently down his thighs so that his thumbs can hook the circles of fabric there. He lets his gaze flick upwards, capturing the lust in Leonard’s eyes, his body language open and ready, so tempting.  
But not nearly as tempting as Kirk’s little scheme.

“Yanno Bones…” he starts, his voice light, as though he was chatting to Leonard in a café. “It would be such a shame to take these pretty things off so soon.”

He rises off the floor as he speaks, ignoring the _thunk_ of Leonard’s feet as they hit the carpeted ground.  
In one hop onto the man’s lap, Jim has his legs around Leonard’s hips and his weight balanced on his hands now framing Leonard’s own on the vanity table. He looks cheekily down at the photographer as he continues.

“Why not keep them on for the day? And then tonight, well-” Jim leans forwards, his lips brushing against Leonard’s jawline. “We continue our little bit of... _fun_.”

He whispers the final word into Bones’ ear, nipping at its lobe lightly before pulling away to grin at the man.

The initial pursed-lips-and-drawn-eyebrows look Leonard wants to shoot the blond to question his daftness at stopping fall short by the time Jim is looming over him. They are replaced by a momentary lurch in the photographer’s stomach and a catch of breath as the final syllable rolls off of the model’s lips.

Keeping the decorative briefs on for the day… under his clothes… and the only other person to know being Jim? Sure, he'd secretly worn lingerie out in public before, but emphasis on the _secret_ part. The prospect of a second party - an approving one at that - being privy to it leaves McCoy, frankly, reeling.

“You’re a menace, Kirk,” he huffs, still slightly dazed as he cranes his neck to get purchase on the closest thing to the man’s mouth he can reach, dotting a kiss against Jim’s chin in the end. Taking into account how painfully hard he is just _thinking_ about their little venture, he adds through a chuckle “Hope you realise what you're getting yourself into.”

A low hum vibrates in the back of Jim’s throat in response as he climbs off Leonard’s lap.

“Trying to sound threatening, old man?” Kirk mocks, leaning down for a quick albeit harsh kiss before pulling completely away. Jim catches the sight of himself in the vanity mirror and realises he still hasn't styled his hair, so he runs a hand through it disapprovingly and starts for the bathroom.

“I don’t think I’m the one that should be considering what they’ve gotten themselves into, by the way,” he teases, shooting Leonard a wink over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom.

Sending a soft glare after the blond for the name-calling, Leonard shakes his head and sits up straight. Sucking in a well needed breath, he rolls his begrudgingly stiff shoulders and gets to his feet, setting about dressing himself. The day’s outfit of choice is bootcut denim jeans, a grey v-neck T-shirt and a button-up over it to leave open - inconspicuous by most standards.

While Jim busies himself in the other room, the photographer puts some order on the main one, i.e. making the bed and sorting the drawer that Jim had previously rifled through. He also notes the outfit set out to the side that has a more formal flair and is obviously Jim’s and follows suit in putting together one for himself. Fortune always favours the prepared.

Leonard actually almost forgets that there's anything unusual to the routine, until he can feel the garters shift around his thighs from all the toing and froing. With an indignant cough, he gives an awkward shimmy to set himself right.

This is going to be a long day.


	10. On the Eve of Fashion Week

A binder, full to the brim with clippings and storyboards, is tucked under Leonard’s arm as he half jogs to keep up with a rather chatty young man with coiffed black hair and a very soothing voice. So soothing in fact that more time could be spent listening to it than the actual ideas the man was trying to convey, but our photographer persists anyway - regardless of the infamous fabric rising higher and higher between his asscheeks and whining for his attention with each laboured step.

As they leave the small office and practically fly through the corridor, Leonard spies a doorway approaching that he recognises to be the large dressing room he had left Jim in the nimble hands of a designer in two hours earlier. The small flutter of warmth in his chest that registers as hope of going in there is almost embarrassing, but he doesn't have much time to dwell on it as they round the corner and enter. 

Flashes of skin crowd his vision, nearly naked and half-clothed models of varying levels of gorgeousness receiving their final briefings on what catwalk they'd be doing where and when, but instinctively McCoy goes up on his toes and peers this way and that to find _his_ familiar streak of blond.

Metaphorically dragged from his stupor by the man he came to learn went by the name of Sulu curving a hand into the crook of his elbow and physically dragging him further into the room, Leonard is shown to a desk with other designers and agents crowded around it where he receives a second binder and more names he might remember if he meets them again face to face later. His work cut out for him, he nods his thanks and shakes a few hands, sagging onto the edge of a table off to the side to wait for Jim as the rest of the people start to herd out of the room.

Careful to make sure nobody is looking directly his way as he proceeds, Leonard sets the folders to the one side and slips his hands beneath the lip of his jeans, humming in concentration as he adjusts how the lacy garment beneath sits on his hips. There's no real masculine way to go about it, having to shift his butt and curve his back in the process, and he has to bite at the inside of his cheek not to focus on _that_ wondrous aspect too much lest he wants to be the subject of a certain somebody's torment for being hard in public. No no, Leonard is bigger and more in control of his body than for that to happen.

The novelty of trying on all the different designer outfits is starting to wear off as Jim struggles into his last outfit. It’s part of a monochrome sequence for one of his catwalks the next day - the look itself isn’t as outrageous as some of the other garments he’d tried on that day, but not something you’d necessarily see someone wearing on the street.

The pants are made of some pleather looking fabric that is bright white and somehow manages to tightly hug his hips and pelvis but be loose everywhere else. Which means trying to get them over his thighs is a nightmare. He also wears a black leather jacket that has white flowers and swirls embroidered from the bottom right on the front of the jacket to curve around and fill up the back of it, as though they’re a flowing river of design.

Underneath the jacket, he’s wearing a simple black lace and mesh crop top that he assumes was kept plain to keep people's attention on the uniqueness of the jacket.

The outfit overall isn’t the most uncomfortable thing ever, it’s just the leatherette pants and the thought of having to bend at all in them that keeps Jim from feeling relaxed. That and the platform black boots them have him in. They aren’t doing any makeup today but he was given the rundown of the extravagant eye makeup he’d have for the catwalk.

Once they were done examining him and he’d done a few walks on one of the practise runways, they let him go for the day. 

He walks into the dressing room already starting to wonder where Leonard could be when he spies the man sitting on a table in the corner of the dressing room, subtly adjusting himself. Jim can’t keep the grin off his face as he stealthily makes his way across the room, trying to keep out of McCoy’s line of sight until he’s right beside the man.

“Hey, Bones,” he grins, his voice just loud enough to startle the man but not too loud that he’s attracting any attention, as he gestures to his own lace design when Leonard turns to him. “We’re matching.”

Leonard jumps, all tense shoulders and hands snapped to chest level in front of him, ready to dismiss any wild theories about what he was doing until it registers that it is Jim looking down at him smugly.  
He sends the model a scowl, however he'd be lying if he said he didn't spend most of the day curious about what kind of wild and wonderful fashion choices they were going to throw onto the man and so the brunet’s eyes wander.

Snorting softly at the realisation of Jim’s comment, Leonard reaches for the lapel of the ornate jacket to trace it in admiration before making a precise dip under it, snaking a strong arm around the blond’s waist to draw their sides against one another. A hand rests on the slip of bare skin at the small of Jim’s back, thumbing over the embroidered bottom hem of the crop top with interest.

“Coulda let me know,” the photographer jokes quietly, eyes flicking downwards a moment for emphasis before meeting Kirk’s gaze fondly. “I’d hate ta be a stranger if you wanted a whole set.”

Jim cocks an eyebrow at the offer, his hand sliding up Leonard’s nearer arm, resting lightly on the man’s shoulder before sliding under his arm and around his waist as well.

“I’m sure you would,” Jim hums and leans his head in closer, their foreheads inches away as he slips his hand lower to grip Leonard’s belt. A quick glance to his left and Jim can confirm no one is watching them as he slips one finger under the waistband of Leonard’s jeans, just enough to tease at the lacy fabric waiting underneath.

“Or maybe we can get you a matching top,” he teases, pulling away as he notices Sulu slipping back into the room.

Leonard has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to withhold a frustrated groan as Jim’s body heat dances away, his skin searing despite the attention delivered to it having been as brief as anything.

As the dark haired man across the way fusses about and doesn't shy away from smiling at the two of them when he sees that they too are still in the room, McCoy raises a hand in a single wave, tight-lipped and refraining from letting his brain go to a _where else might have James T Kirk’s hands gone had you not walked into the room, sir?_ place. Instead, he makes a stab at some normal-people talk.

“Did you guys cover everything you needed to?” he beckons to the blond, patting his thigh lightly to keep his attention.

“Pretty much, everything bar make-up,” Jims eyes scan the room watching the rest of the monochrome models changing back into everyday clothing as he mutters. The thought of another wardrobe change nearly makes him weep.

“How’d the tour of the studios go?” Jim asks then, his attention snapping back to the photographer as he realises Sulu is dealing with a different model before he reaches them.

Nodding his understanding, Leonard gathers his folders together and makes their little pile neater, laying them flat on his lap to be ready for whenever they need to leave before he shrugs up at Jim again.

“Got so many lights in every room, their monthly electricity bill probably looks like they're tryna build a damn thermonuclear bomb,” he admits with a cynical raise of his brows. “But any of you guys would be well looked after coming in here. Staff’s friendly, they had a mini-bar in the studio with the black-lights. If I worked here, can tell ya _exactly_ where I'd be ninety percent a’ the time.” 

A bark of laughter erupts from Jim at Bones’ comment.

“I don't doubt that,” he chuckles, imagining the bar would merit a visit at some part of their stay… ooh, and perhaps some clubs while they're at it. “And I don't know Bones, I'd say I'm… pretty well looked after at home.” He sends a knowing look to the older man accompanied by a wink, only holding back a further comment in lieu of Sulu’s entrance to the conversation.  
“You scaring another one off, Jim?” his manager teases, eliciting a snort from the model. Sulu continues, directing the second part to Leonard. “One smart comment off a restraining order, I always say.”

“Hey!” Jim interrupts, a pout definitely not decorating his features. “I'm a joy to be around,” he adds, crossing his arms gracefully, and totally not childishly at all.

A brief chuckle leaves Leonard, him sending Jim an amused look before entertaining the other man standing with them.

“Got a mouth like a motor sometimes, whether he likes to admit it or not,” he offers with a sympathetic shrug, playing it up as if he's oblivious to the daggers Jim will surely shoot his way. “I, uhh… got him under a tight leash though, you needn’t worry.”

“ _Oh_?” Sulu replies, intrigue curving his features as his hands settle on his hips. With an all too delighted note of curiosity to his voice, he turns to the model. “Is that so, Jim?”

Red hot embarrassment flushes through Jim’s system as the men turn their attention on him.

“A leash-” is all Jim manages to squawk out, his mouth hanging open as he stares at Leonard in disbelief. That smug _bastard_ is just staring back up at him, all innocent and bright-eyed.

“It is not so!” Jim snaps indignantly at Sulu, who now has a smirk splitting his face in two. “I have never been so insulted,” Jim adds, giving the best glare he can at the two when his face is no doubt as red as a tomato. He is met with badly disguised laughter and his cheeks puff up on instinct.

“You two are _evil_ ,” Jim spits, his finger shooting up of its own accord to aggressively wag at the pair. “Pure evil!”

He turns on his heels, a smile almost reaching his lips as another of his devilish schemes conjures in his mind, but he manages to contain it to keep the pretence of anger about him.

“I’m going to change. Not all of us can get away with wearing lace all day,” he throws over his shoulder, confident Bones has got his just desserts as he leaves for the dressing room he’d left his clothes in. 

It's the euphoric wave of victory he thought he could relish in crashing down at Jim’s offhanded comment that makes the photographer’s gut feel like it has been uppercutted. He stares after the blond with an expression that would be a kindness to describe as _sour_ , disgusted by how extremely well-played the jab had been.

“... I'm afraid I'm a bit lost with that one,” Sulu comments lightheartedly, giving Leonard a nudge with his elbow in an attempt to budge him from his disgruntled statue-like state. “Care to fill me in?”

“... Nope,” the brunet announces with finality, one handedly keeping his folders firmly clasped against his crotch area as he gets to his feet. He takes one of the dark haired man’s hands with his free one and gives it a singular solid shake, adding “Thanks for showing me around, I’ll be seeing you at that dinner later.”

And with that, Leonard hurries out of the large dressing room, leaving Sulu scratching his head with more even questions left unanswered.

* * *

Weaving through the thick straggle of people in a bar while balancing a tray of shots and beers should definitely be a sport, considering the level of mental and physical ability it entails. Jim just about manages to keep one such tray steady above head level as yet another woman tries to grind up against him as he passes by.

Have people in overpopulated bars no shame?

Finally, he manages to spot his solace - McCoy and their table tucked away in the corner of the bar. He places the tray down with a light thud and all but collapses into the booth seat beside Leonard, slightly squashing the other man against the wall.

“It is _crazy_ here,” Jim complains, loosening his tie. He’s still in his suit from their restaurant venture with Sulu and the outfit is way too warm for this type of environment. He glances over at Bones who immediately goes for a cold beer, downing the first few gulps with ease, ignoring Jim completely.

“Oh _c’mon_ ,” Jim whines. “You’ve been giving me the silent treatment since dinner, I was only teasing,” he explains, referring to the countless sly digs he managed to get in about lace, lingerie and under garments in general over the duration of their hour and a half spent with Sulu.

He had been subtle!  
...Mostly. 

However, the wandering hand that played with the edge of the briefs through Leonard’s pants under the dinner table could have been a tad too far, in retrospect.

The more the blond pleads with him, the more interesting things Leonard seems to be able to pick out from the dancefloor a few good strides away. For example, the erratic and somewhat violent punches and swerves one woman is pulling out of her repertoire of apparent dance moves, or the young man with legs that seem to never end who has boldly chosen to show them off by wearing a skimpy dress made out of holographic fabric.

The photographer had always taken a shine to people-watching, it came with the job. But utilising it to get back at a bratty Jim Kirk proves to be a hobby of its own the longer he follows through with it. Electing to shift so that his back leans into the corner where wall meets seat cushion as opposed to being so crowded for space, Leonard finishes the last few sips of his beer and sets the bottle down on the table to finally fix his partner with an unimpressed quirk of his eyebrow.

“ _Teasing_?” he echoes, drawing out the word as if it's foreign in his mouth and shall stay that way lest Jim doesn't explain its meaning, an arm draping itself over the backrest while he brings a foot up to rest on the opposing knee and complete his unbothered composure.

Jim groans at the man’s unfriendly response, partially enjoying their banter and partially wanting the cold shoulder routine to be over.

“ _Boooones_ ,” he whines, downing his first shot before washing it back with a sip of beer, not even shuddering at the conflicting tastes. He pouts more at the older man, not appreciating the cold body language he’s receiving and the loss of heat against his shoulder and side. 

Kirk’s brows furrow and his forehead slightly wrinkles as he attempts to formulate a way to get Leonard to stop acting like such a grump. He finally settles on a cocky “Don’t need to act like you didn’t like it...that much was clear” in hopes of getting a rise out of the photographer.

It's exceedingly challenging to stay mad when the bob of Jim’s adam's apple is out on show like it is when he knocks back his drinks with such ease, but Leonard puts that down to the glasses of wine that came with dinner and his recent beer speaking.  
The blond’s cute expression of deep thought that flashes by is also quite tempting, but giving in with treats to a pup because it sits and lies down from memory doesn't teach it how to give paw, thus he holds his ground.

“Doesn’t mean I don't still want an apology, _darlin’_ ,” McCoy corrects, stretching over with his free arm to retrieve a shot for himself.

A shiver runs down Kirk’s spine at that goddamn nickname and just the whole condescending sentence in general. He fights back another whine that threatens to leave him, knowing that particular tactic isn’t going to work on Leonard tonight.  
Instead, he reverts back to his other best weapon - seduction and distraction. Preferring them over an actual apology, Jim almost shudders at the thought.

“Oh, Bones,” Jim starts, raising a hand to cover his heart, his voice now silky soft, his performance beginning.  
“I didn’t realise I hurt your feelings” he continues, leaning into Leonard’s personal space, a hand creeping up the man’s leg as Jim rests his neck against the arm Leonard had draped over the back of the booth. His blue eyes lock with Leonard’s hazel ones as he conveys as much sass as possible.

For a moment Leonard finds himself petrified to the spot, watching the other man’s every move in slow motion. They're so practiced, so calculated. And yet he can feel his heart stutter, his chest cavity and its contents melting into a hot putty and dragging all of the moisture from his mouth down into the abyss with them.

“I’m so sorry, Bonsey,” Jim half mocks as he places an arm in the triangle Bones had created with his legs and lap, his hand right in front of Leonard’s crotch fully aware of what it does to him. He uses the leverage to lean ever closer to Bones.

“Can you forgive your naughty boy?” he pleads, chin tipped down with his eyebrows raising innocently. 

McCoy licks his lips, raking over the model’s provocative form with reckless abandon from the corner of his eye as he turns to down his shot to free up his hand, though almost choking on it at Jim’s utterance of _naughty boy_.

“... Fuck,” he hisses, snapping a hand forward to twist the red tie dangling in no-man’s-land around it and pull Jim in, fiercely crashing their mouths together. It's all teeth and tongue but Leonard can't bring himself to care, his upper body in its entirety feeling like it's on fire with the need to taste the sharp vodka on Kirk’s lips.

No, beyond that - to taste _Kirk_.

Jim's body stumbles forward as his lips smack against McCoy’s. The hand not in the middle of Bones’ lap ends up braced against the wall above his shoulder, Jim’s spine being stretched out with no room for his knees to shuffle closer. The position leaves his ass popping out for any passerby to have a perfect view of.

To say Jim's surprised is an understatement, he had not been expecting that to be so _easy_.  
He'd been ready for the signature quirked eyebrow, the huff, the sigh of annoyance.

This hot kiss in the bar booth is definitely a nice surprise.

Leonard's quick to battle his tongue into Kirk's mouth, eliciting a moan almost straight away. McCoy’s hand is still gripping his tie- or well McCoy’s tie, keeping Jim’s face close. Jim feels he owes that tie a great deal.  
After a couple glorious seconds of some of the hottest making out Jim had ever had the pleasure to participate in, he manages to pull away slightly, keeping his lips near McCoy’s ear.

“I- I was not expecting that reaction,” Jim pants slightly, searching Leonard's face with a raised eyebrow and slightly tilted head.

“Shocked you're not the only one with tricks up his sleeve?” Leonard breaths, a smug chuckle carrying through the last few syllables. Thumbing over the silky fabric of the tie a few times, relishing briefly in the power he can wield with it, he slowly untangles from it and instead uses that hand to trail over Jim’s side. While the man’s trickery from earlier in the night hasn't _quite_ been forgiven per se, it has desensitised Leonard to such public forthrightness and flicked a competitive switch in his slightly inebriated brain.

He begrudgingly stifles it however as he notices two just-about discernable figures looking their way from across the bar. One notices the photographer’s attention on them and pats the other's arm excitedly, which leads to the pair steadily coming closer.

“I’d recommend actin’ natural, sweetheart,” Leonard hums, pressing a peck against the blond’s jaw before retrieving his hands to himself and signaling their apparent visitors arriving at their table, but not without a biting “Can stick your ass out for me all you like later.”

“Sorry to be interrupting,” the shorter of the new arrivals announces in a thick accent, sounding somewhat nervous as he wrings his hands. “But are you James Tiberius Kirk?”

Jim could have smacked the smug expression off Leonard's face as he turns to meet the stranger addressing him, a light flush on his face after Bones’ sly comment.

“The one and only,” his jaw is still tingling as he responds to the question with his usual charm. He puts out a hand and greets the two strangers with a firm handshake, both of the blondes looking familiar somehow.

The youngest man’s face lights up like a damn Christmas tree as he shakes Jim’s hand, looking like he'd probably bounce on the spot were they not in a very adult establishment.

Kirk’s eyes widen slightly at him. _Damn_ , he couldn't be 21. His thin build, curls and youthful face made the man look about 17, but he had to have shown ID to get in…

It probably didn't help that the woman at his side is notably taller than him, even without the heels. She looks much older in comparison, but still younger than Jim. Her hair is styled in a short bob and the familiarity of her confident stance sends Jim wracking his brain for where he’d seen her before.

“I’m sorry,I can be a bit of a mess when it comes to faces,” Jim asks, wondering how on Earth the pair knew him, or at least knew _of_ him. “Have we met before?”

“My name is Pavel Chekov, but can call me Pasha,” the kid explains, then turns to his friend expectantly. “And-”

“Carol Marcus,” she adds with a polite smile, arms folded loosely beneath her bust. “We were at the fitting for Fashion Week this afternoon, as part of the international team.”

“Obviously was very busy so we did not meet, but I have followed you for long time,” Chekov pipes up again, quickly correcting himself with an “O-on Instagram! I am… it is dream to be walking same runway as you, I am a big fan.”

“Jeez kid, catch a breath,” from the corner with an amused eyebrow raised, Leonard beckons while motioning towards the seats on the opposite side of the table. “Sit down a while.”

The younger man waits for a friendly confirming nod from Jim before he slides into the booth enthusiastically, followed by Carol.

“Yes!” Jim exclaims after his brain catches up with what Carol had been saying and he had time to digest the fact that this kid not only knows him but is a _fan_. Jim had never been approached in person before by a fan, he’d had some designers mention they’d seen his shoots obviously, but never someone who’d openly admit to following his Instagram or telling him they’d dreamed of working alongside him.

It seems totally bizarre to Jim. He feels his career had been a constant battle to get shoots, to fight for catwalks. The fact someone had been hoping to be in the same show as him and to see the sheer delight on this guy across from him’s face at finally getting to, leaves Jim feeling... lightheaded.

“The two of you are modeling the elements look, right? Your outfits are insane!” he continues, flashing a beaming smile at Pasha. He’d stopped to gawk at the pair earlier that day, the Russian had been in some ice themed suit that was a whole array of blues while Carol had been covered in whites and greys, presumably representing air or the wind. Some British designer was running that part of the show, Jim had read a few articles on the brand and been low-key jealous he wouldn’t be apart of that category.

Pavel looks like he's about to pass out from how stunned he is by his _idol_ registering his existence. A grounding pat on the back from Carol brings him back to though and he spends a good ten minutes gushing about the work that he's getting to do because he saw Jim’s budding rise to success and wanted to follow in his footsteps back home in Russia, as well as asking a million and one questions about how Jim is finding the designs and sets and virtually anything else anybody could concoct about such a momentous fashion event.  
Leonard finds himself sitting back comfortably as the three models mix and mingle, making a gesture to a passing server for a new round of drinks to be brought for the table once or twice.

Naturally, he had been privy to a lot of the process of making a photoshoot happen on paper and in application, but hearing firsthand the struggles of contorting one’s body for extended periods of time and the pure euphoria of seeing the final product having been anxious about it for weeks is really something else. By the time they're moving onto more general topics of conversation, Leonard notes the progressive emptying of the dancefloor.

“Hate to break up this cozy lil soirée, but I think they're closing,” he leans forward to announce.

“There’s a nightclub not too far from here,” Carol suggests in her prim but soft tone, fishing her phone from her pocket to check the time. “I saw it on the way, I think the sign said it was a late night one?”

Humming in thought, the brunet raises his eyebrows at Jim in consideration. “You wanna go?”

“Of course!” Jim finds himself yelling, the third shot finally kicking in as he jumps out of the booth. “To the club!” he laughs, grabbing Chekov’s arm as he stands and leads him skipping out of the bar, the younger man matching his stride.

The pair continue chattering happily as they make it outside, pausing only at the doorway to wait for their two slightly calmer and probably more sober companions.

The four start walking down the street then, moving from a loose line to pairs as the path narrows and widens as they venture out into the night.


	11. Welcome to the Panic Room

The alcohol is an adequate buffer from the cold for the first minute or so of walking until Jim starts to notice the temperature drop and the condensation forming in front of his mouth at every breath. Carol and Chekov, with their noses in the older woman’s phone, end up leading the pair as they’re presumably following a map to the night club and know what they’re doing. Jim finds himself snaking an arm around Leonard’s waist in an attempt to leech the warmth from the older man, mumbling an “‘M cold Bones.”

Leonard rolls his eyes with an audible groan but wraps an arm around Jim’s shoulders anyway, leaning into him and mocking the model’s cocky voice as he says “Spare jackets are for wimps, Bones. I can't be _seen_ looking unfashionable!”

The short walk ends up rather enjoyable, Leonard’s hand idly rubbing the blond’s shoulder and bicep as he takes in the neon signs and yappy groups of people that pass them, some only getting their nights started while other are changing locations, much like their own posse.  
He unhooks from Jim as they march their way up the line to get into the club, it looking a lot more exclusive than the photographer had first expected.

Carol and Chekov get past the bouncer with barely a second glance, and so McCoy sets a hand on his partner’s back and steps behind to let him go in ahead. As expected, Jim’s wrist is stamped and he’s let through right away, landing Leonard with a brief interrogation to go through. He isn't too shocked, as such is standard when an older man is trailing around after pretty mid-twenty year olds, and so keeps a level head about him until they finally let him in.

* * *

The place is all rave lights and purple glows, huge amps nestled into every corner that make the very floor vibrate with every thump and beat of whatever bass-heavy song the energetic DJ at the far end of the room has deemed the next best thing since sliced bread. Rising to his toes to peer over the heads of party goers who seem to be under a spell with how invested they are in bumping and swaying with one another, he pauses upon feeling a hand curl into the crook of his elbow. A smile and a platinum blonde bob confirm to him in the dim light that she's one of his party and lets Carol guide him to the bar, lit up with streaks of luminescent green and pink bouncing off chrome fittings and clear plexiglass countertops. Chekov, with Jim already - thankfully - at his side, leans over said surface to order them more shots. Once they arrive, Leonard sighs deeply and raises his shot glass into the centre for the other three to ‘cheers’.

The shot burns his throat as it goes down but Jim barely notices as the beat changes to one of his favourite songs. Before he can even convey his excitement Chekov shrieks “I love this song!”

The Russian grabs and effortlessly drags Jim to the dancefloor. In sync with one another, their hips are swaying and arms are windmilling to the rhythm. The room sways around Jim but he doesn’t feel drunk, just giddy as the beat drops and Chekov and him effortlessly slut drop.  
The pair yell along as the song changes, both knowing the lyrics perfectly and laughing at each other’s lip syncing impersonations. 

A chuckle rumbles in Leonard's chest as he shakes his head into his drink, earning a triumphant grin from the young woman who had entirely outsmarted one of his southern quips, not paying much mind to how she had nestled herself between his other arm reclined back against the bar and his side.

He finds Carol to be interesting company while the other two are busy jamming out, an eager listener that never shies away from challenging him if she doesn’t agree with something he says. She has her own charm about her, not quite as exuberant or head-first as Jim’s of course given her more reserved nature, but still very gripping up-close.

“You know,” Carol starts after a moment of comfortable silence, inspecting her nails idly so as not to look up at the man just yet. “Some of the articles I've read about your work have been… quite riveting.”

“What makes you say that?” with a questioning snort, the photographer lowers his glass as he looks down at her, craning his neck given she’s at his chin height.

“Well,” she continues all airily. “There's been a running theme of accrediting your photography skills to your, uhm... quote unquote _steady practiced hands_?”

After a couple of songs, Jim starts to wonder where Bones is. His head whips around, neck stretching to look over the sea of dancers before he eventually spots Bones near where they’d ordered the shots at the bar.

He also notices Carol almost hanging off the photographer’s arm, the pair chatting animatedly with their heads close together.

His tipsy mind does not like the image and he yells something incoherent in Chekov’s general direction as he stalks through the mass of dancers towards the pair, ready to launch himself at Bones as soon as he can make it through the crowd of grinding people.

“Sounds… about right,” Leonard’s eyebrow raises so high it might as well be part of his hairline as the platinum blonde delicately prizes his glass from his grasp, setting it down on the bar behind them and meeting his gaze with a dilated ice blue one.

“I’d be intrigued to test the accuracy of that theory,” she whispers just loud enough for McCoy to hear given their proximity and the heavy thrum of the music, her voice girlish and smooth as silk. “In… other contexts.” Leonard tenses as she presses into his side enticingly, one of her hands splayed over his stomach in appreciation.

Before Leonard can get a dismissing word in edgeways however, his chest has a larger hand planted firmly onto it, the front of his shirt claimed not a moment later in an iron grip. The skin beneath stings from the clumsy rake of nails over it, but he has no time to complain nor find out who his assailant is as he's being dragged roughly away, deep into the belly of the club.

JIm wouldn’t call himself a possessive person.  
He’d had enough fun with threesomes and orgies in his late teens and early twenties that to say that would be hypocritical. He wasn’t even angry when he saw Carol sliding up to his man- _his man_ , when did he start using that? 

Anyway.

No, he hadn’t been angry. He’d simply gotten the urge to drag Bones away from her slender frame and show him that he had all he needed already. Maybe doing that by fucking him senseless in one of the bathroom stalls, but - as Leonard himself would so intelligently put it - _God is in the details_.

Instead, he settles for dragging the older man to the dancefloor and grinding up against him.  
He catches Carol’s raised brow with a wink and grin, making it crystal clear that _this one’s mine_. She can only shake her head almost in disbelief at him, a smirk tugging at her lips as Chekov joins her, looking incredibly unsteady on his feet.

Leonard would have very nearly stumbled into one of the other couples on the dancefloor if it weren't for Jim - oh, that’s who had swooped in and grabbed him - backing up against him. Disoriented as all hell, the question at the tip of his tongue slowly dissolves, making Leonard swallow it down hard as the fine piece of ass before him rolls back against his hips lest he wants to visibly drool. Enchanted, he can only watch for what feels like an eternity, mouth hanging agape while everything else in the room fades away, leaving only him, Jim’s masterfully arching back and the sinful rock and swivel of those devilish hips below.

Instinct takes over and Leonard moves with him, first setting his hands loosely on Jim’s waist only to marvel in it like one would a Masaccio piece, but soon actually curling his fingers into the fabric of the man’s shirt as if it will give him some leverage amidst the thick haze that is James T Kirk’s sex appeal.

A flush of heat drops in Jim’s stomach as Leonard starts moving behind him, their body’s swaying in perfect unison. His eyes watch the gentle hands that grasp him, feeling the heat of the man’s skin through his thin shirt.

As the rhythm of the song picks up Jim arches his back more, fitting himself tightly back against Bones’ chest, their hips lining up perfectly.  
Almost by itself, one of his hands, which had been resting on his thigh, starts to rise, his arm bending up and behind him to find the back of Leonard’s head and grab on to it. His fingers brush along the shorter hairs at the back of his skull, sliding upwards to grasp at the nest of locks at the crown of Bone’s head.

Leonard’s head tips back and a low moan leaves him as Jim’s fist tightens around his hair, tantalising his scalp and making him shudder. Craning in once more, he lets a hand splay up the blond’s side and over his chest, spidering higher until the curve between his thumb and forefinger sits in against Jim’s throat. From there he ghosts the tip of his nose over the shell of the model’s ear, soon replacing it with hotly kisses and a tease of his tongue.

Leonard is 100% sure Jim can feel how hard he is, but does not care in the slightest. The toxic cocktail of vodka, wine, sambuca, beer and whatever the hell else residing in the pit of his stomach is telling his appendages - _all_ of them - that they're ablaze and making his head spin and it all just feels too _good_ to possibly listen to reason.

The blunt feeling of the hard on currently pressed up against his back fills Kirk with a wave of satisfaction and fulfillment. He grins at the knowledge that it was _him_ that could get Bones like this, Jim Kirk that had the man nibbling at his ear and gripping his sides.  
Despite the pleasure of the scorching heat of Leonard’s lips against his neck, Jim turns to face the man. He wraps his arms around Bones’ waist, his hands gliding down to the hem of his shirt, finding their way underneath and to the soft skin of Bones’ lower back. Hidden under the veil of the shirt, Jim’s hands slide lower, the same way they had earlier in the dressing room.

“Didn’t think I would forget you’re wearing these, did you, beautiful?” Jim murmurs in his ear, pulling lightly on the lingerie in a way that Leonard would definitely have to adjust them later on.  
“A pretty little cage to trap that hard cock of yours, hm?” Jim teases further, grinding his hips forward for emphasis.

The brunet’s practically stunned into silence with the way Jim presses into his space, his breath hitching at the shameless dirty talk and making him drop his forehead to the model’s shoulder heavily. Leonard knows that coming from literally anybody else, this type of treatment would have to be premeditated, but knowing that all of it is likely just Kirk’s quick thinking, he has to bite back a groan.

“Some cage if you think I’ll be taking ‘em off while I'm fucking you later,” he breathes huskily, the confident bravado from earlier missing given his concentration is split between gripping the blond's upper arms and not spilling over the edge right then and there _in public_ , but the intent still drips from his words as he meets Jim’s hips roll for roll.

The friction of their hips is so gloriously hot and sensual that Jim doesn’t want to move away, to leave this. But he’s seen it now, over Bones’ shoulder and damn if he’s going to pass up this opportunity when he has Leonard in this state.

“Later, huh?” Jim retorts, voice equally laboured as he runs a hand up Leonard’s chest. “Better be worth the wait.” 

He cuts himself off by drawing Leonard’s head in for a kiss, pulling away from it with a sharp nip to Bones’ bottom lip. He shoulders past the brunette then, his hips swaying and his posture in complete model mode as he makes towards the slightly elevated part of the dancefloor that’s showcasing several dancing poles.

He grabs onto the nearest empty one with ease, a group of young adults hollering before he’s even finished his first swing. The metal feels cool around his fingers, his grip automatically adjusting as his old training kicks in, his conditioning standing by him even when drunk.

The DJ flips the track again and Jim finds himself going through an old routine he had learnt for a similar song. He catches Bones’ gaze just as he slut drops against the pole before losing sight of the man as Jim propels himself up the pole and into a simple rotation. His body starts bending and flipping before he even decides what his next move is and somewhere along the way he’s unbuttoned his shirt.

Every now and then he grins out to the adoring fans he seems to have collected, but every time it’s the one brunet’s reaction he’s searching for.

If Leonard thought he had questions before, he has another thing coming now because this asshole can do fucking anything, apparently.

He pushes past a few rows of people, not landing himself at the very front but still ensuring that he has the best view possible as Jim works the pole like it was made for him. McCoy has to cross his feet at the ankles and stand with his hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep his painfully swollen erection at bay, shaking his head in disbelief as the blond on stage nestles the crook of his elbow around the metal pole and descends, whirling around it until he lands against the platform on his knees. The expanse of skin that's revealed makes Leonard's mouth water all over again, though the few sly hands that grasp up at the model from the crowd send a shot of tension through his chest.

The first very primal thought going through his head is that, if others are going to gawk at Jim’s body, he wants to mark it first - mottle his hips and stomach and throat a gorgeous pattern of purple and red, tell everybody that he's spoken for. But putting his body on show is literally Kirk’s job description, and so Leonard has to reel himself in, left staring up at the man’s erotic movements equal parts conflicted and turned on.

Jim sends the most innocent smile to the crowd now reaching for him and wolf whistling. He hadn’t felt this type of attention in a while, he had missed it in some ways and equally is glad his attention now comes from being on the catwalks.

He does one or two more daring moves that he’s sure could end up with him landing on his face, it being years since he’d attempted most of them. He finishes his performance off by climbing to the top of the pole, shirt now completely off, probably being held by someone in his audience and wraps his thighs around it, arching himself completely backwards until his arms grasps the pole beneath his legs. He manages to do the splits briefly before he lets himself rocket towards the ground, only stopping the momentum an inch before his head would have smacked it if he didn’t know what he was doing.

The crowd goes wild around him and he can vaguely hear the DJ’s excited approval over a distorted microphone. He quickly untangles himself from the pole, bows to the crowd and makes his way to where he can see the mop of Leonard’s hair, shirt forgotten.

The people in front of him part like the Red Sea as Jim swaggers down from the stage, Leonard greeting him with a low whistle and hips rocked to the one side with his hands loosely resting on them.

“Where in the fresh hell did you learn to do that?” he questions, half incredulous and half impressed as he over-emphasises a look from the man’s head to his toes and back again. The photographer would have been lying to say his heart didn't stop on several occasions as he watched Jim’s exuberant display of flexibility and what he can only describe as thrill-seeking, simultaneously loving as much as hating how now people were looking at the two of them together having their attention been claimed by the blond.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jim taunts, grabbing the man’s hand. He ignores the booing and awwing crowd behind him and starts to lead Leonard to the exit, happy to deflect the question for now.

“Let’s go,” Jim smirks behind him, suddenly eager to leave the club and have the photographer all to himself.

* * *

Though the taxi ride from the club back to the hotel is relatively brief, the air between the two men could be cut with a knife. Leonard had fussed over draping his jacket around the blond’s shoulders while they waited for their cab to arrive because _who in their right mind throws their shirt AND jacket away on a night out, goddamn it!_ but Jim’s absent fiddling with the clothing item’s sleeves and buttons forces the body of it to shift and open around his bare torso and Leonard could swear on his father’s grave that a person’s skin had never been so distracting.

He makes short work of paying their driver and marching through the hotel’s reception as normally as possible despite the taste of tequila still fresh in the back of his throat, mentally scolding Jim for drawing unnecessary attention to himself by saying hello to most of the staff he passes. A typical occupant of an $800 a night hotel room does _not_ just waltz in looking like some kind of tramp half naked, and yet there the hell is Jim Kirk.  
Tapping his foot impatiently, Leonard waits for his counterpart to join him in the elevator before pressing the button for their floor, ignoring the arrogant grin on the model’s dumb face and maintaining a scowl until the doors slide shut. _Ding_.

Within an instant, the photographer has a hold of his younger charge’s wrists and is forcing them against the mirrored wall, kissing him hungrily like his very life depends on it. Trapping Jim’s torso between the side of the cubicle and his own, Leonard wrenches the man’s knees apart to press his hip in against his crotch, sinking to the blond’s neck while kneading his thigh in between those toned legs.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” the brunet nearly growls, heartbeat pulsing in his ears while he delves into the crook of Jim’s neck like he's wanted to for the last hour, demanding sweet noises and gasps from his lips via teeth scraping over and sinking into skin. “Teasin’ me in front a’ all those people… d’you know how hard it was not to just put you over a table and let ‘em watch? You’d have liked that too though, wouldn’t you?”

Jim shudders at the hungry tone of Bones’ voice, the satisfaction Jim feels having Leonard confess what the model does to him goes straight to his groin, egged on by the possessive position the photographer had him trapped in.

The contrast of the cool glass at his back and the fire that is Leonard McCoy leaves Jim feeling disorientated and weightless. The thigh grinding against his crotch elicits a strained whine from the back of his throat, his knees almost buckling beneath him as Leonard’s skillful lips explore his neck.

Jim groans at Leonard’s final question, the image of Leonard fucking him over a table when the man himself is rubbing against him is almost too much, Jim becoming aware of just how painfully hard he is. He tries for a smartass retort but the elevator decides to break up their little session by announcing their floor and that the doors are about to open.

Finding a moment to grumble as he always does, Leonard backs up and meets the blond’s eyes, inwardly proud of the disheveled state he has him in already. Fishing the room key from the jacket’s breast pocket without a word, McCoy turns to stalk out of the elevator as its doors open almost on cue for him.

There's no fumbling this time around, Leonard slots the card into the lock and the handle gives easily, him discarding the piece of plastic to the vanity table the moment he's inside and already getting to work on unbuttoning his shirt. He turns to greet Jim entering the room by shrugging it off of his shoulders, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. Not once taking his intense gaze off of the object of his affections, Leonard easily slinks backwards to perch himself on the edge of the bed, making an inviting _come here_ motion with his index and middle fingers.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Honolulu Hotstuff](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18352934) by [jaceyboiii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaceyboiii/pseuds/jaceyboiii)




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